Final Fantasy: Final Requiem
by DarkSeraphim1
Summary: Previously titled, "Angelic Overature", but I didn't like it, so I changed it. SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know.    Yaoi. Shonen-ai. Rated "M". Please, R&R, and enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Plot Synopsis: **SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =) Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods!

**Author's Note: **This story will contain no tail or wing kink, so please, don't ask. That said, I hope you enjoy the beginning of this tale—no pun intended =). I'm posting the first two chapters at once, so I'll thank you in advance for any reviews I might receive. Oh, and Merry Christmas, everyone!

**_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_**

**Final Fantasy: Final Requiem**

Chapter One

He glided gracefully over the Tree's many leaves, a slender figure adorned in billowing waves of pearl-sheened silk. Hard-soled boots whispered over an uneven carpet of vines and roots, the spongy ground beneath all but buried under their gnarled lengths. He reached out with slim, elegant hands, violet-tipped nails just barely brushing the smaller leaves which sprung from the devastated growths. He felt a tinge of sadness as he observed the changes, the feeling accompanied—as always—by a heavy mantle of guilt. While he had long ago become accustomed to this uneven, battle-born terrain, he remembered what it had been like _before, _and he mourned the damage wrought by a madman's selfish, destructive ambition.

The Ilfa Tree had once been a truly magnificent sight to behold. Taller than any manmade structure, with branches as large as any of Gaia's Mist-powered air ships, its pod-like leaves could easily harbor said ships en mass. The Tree still dominated the surrounding landscape, but its magnificence had been horribly dimmed, and only time would tell if it could one day be recaptured.

This sacred place, once so beautiful, was little more than an attractive prison now. One which he had _more _than earned, Kuja Tribal reminded himself with a sigh. Pride, conceit, rebellion, madness, and—of course—his insatiable ambition had done this, had all but destroyed the Tree through which all of Gaia's souls must pass. He couldn't blame his former master, dead by his own hand, for setting him on his destructive course. He couldn't even blame the one he called brother for failing to stop him before it went too far. He, and no other, was responsible for this. . .this utter _travesty _of life before him.

He paused at the edge of one large leaf, his narrowed azure eyes seeing not the stunning sunset before him, but the past he was here to atone for. He had been strong, the most powerful of his kind, a Genome unlike any other, created for the sole purpose of death and destruction. He was the embodiment of chaos, a destroyer of worlds, a reaper of souls, an Angel of Death.

He was also a failure.

Kuja sighed deeply, the sound heavy with a regret that had once been foreign to him. He could not go back in time and change the past, no matter how greatly he longed to. He had been made to dominate, to kill—if only for a limited span of time—and he had fulfilled his purpose all too well. He was very much afraid that—if given the chance—he would once again succumb to the temptations of power, and open his arms to the dark art of death.

Kuja wrapped his white-clad arms around his exposed middle, shivering with a cold that had little to do with the encroaching night. He didn't want to go back to the man he'd once been, cold, arrogant, and _much_ too confident in himself. He had taken what he wanted, with little care for the devastation he left behind in his wake. He had taken lovers at will, never feeling anything more than a temporary physical infatuation for his partners, even while taking _everything _that they had in return. He had been a charming, empty shell of a man, and no amount of borrowed souls could ever have changed that.

The silence of the Ilifa Tree began to grate on his nerves, and Kuja had to grit his teeth to maintain his sense of calm. He positively _loathed _the quiet here. He couldn't believe how much he missed simply being _around _other people. He'd always regarded humans with contempt, believing them to be well beneath him, even as he basked in the attention that they _all _lavished on him. He was beautiful, educated, seductive, and powerful. The weak humans which populated Gaia had all but fallen at his feet, his to do with as he'd wished. He had rarely lacked companionship, and had found more of it than even he had believed possible.

Sex would be nice, though, he thought with another sigh. His beauty, which was as undeniable as it was unusual, had once drawn both men and women alike. Like moths to the proverbial flame they had sought him out, offering their bodies—and oftentimes more—seemingly desperate in their bids to gain his affection. He had never quite understood it, but he _had _taken advantage of it, and had reveled in every pleasure-drenched moment of it.

And yet, for all of that, he had died alone.

Kuja shivered, only absently noting the chill in the air as he thought about the past. Zidane had tried to save him, even though he'd had no reason to. The younger brother Kuja had always resented had returned to the Ilifa Tree, his intention to rescue his mortally-wounded brother. Kuja had sent the young thief away, using the last of his spiritual strength to teleport Zidane to safety. He had accepted his impending death as his due, and had faced it with as much dignity as was possible, under the circumstances. He had closed his eyes, drew what he had _known _would be his last breath, and had awakened here, in the very spot where he now stood. His health had been miraculously restored, his powers unfettered, and here he had chosen to remain.

He still didn't know why he had been spared, or who had done the sparing, nor did he care. He hadn't tried to escape, nor had he railed against his fate—well, not _too _much, anyway. This was where he belonged, chained to the souls of those he had once thought to rule. Perhaps, someday, he would learn who had spared him and why, but it was truly of no consequence. He was a prisoner, but not an unwilling one.

Kuja shook his head, sending long ribbons of violet-streaked silver hair into his face. He reached up with a delicate hand to push it away, turning his thoughts to more pleasant things. Like the slivers of Crystal which now dotted the overgrown landscape of the Ilifa Tree. In his madness, he had shattered the Crystal, his intention to doom Gaia to the same fate as he. Instead, it had exploded, and the remains had somehow made their way here, to the tree of life itself. Some of the pieces were too small—or damaged—to reflect anything on their flawed exteriors, but the few that weren't. . .

Occasionally, these scattered shards would begin to glow, and on their scarred, pitted surfaces he would catch glimpses of the unknown. He was shown places and people he didn't recognize, but suspected were other worlds. Sometimes there were unknown creatures—blue skinned, spear-toting behemoths, for example—and other times there were chocobos crowned with colors he had never before seen. Even more rarely, he was given the gift of seeing other humanoid beings. No Genomes, and certainly none of the humans that _he _knew, but people all the same. They couldn't hear him when he spoke, nor could he interact with them in any way, but he could hear their voices. For someone who craved social contact as much as he did, that was a truly priceless gift.

He was simply an observer now, the masterpiece that was his life reduced to an unflattering mummer's farce. In the beginning, his isolation had flung him into a deep depression, one which had threatened to rob him of what little spirit he'd retained. Now, he had accepted it as his due, and strove to make himself content with the lot he had drawn.

The wind picked up again, and he frowned as he hugged himself tighter. "It's for the best," Kuja reminded himself sternly.

Yes, he was incredibly bored, but that was part of the punishment. He, who positively _loathed _inactivity, was trapped in a place with almost no outside stimuli. He could watch the sun rise and set, could observe the sky as clouds drifted past, but that was the extent of his contact with the outside world. His change of heart had come too late, his sins so great that they could not be forgiven. Gods, but what he wouldn't give for the chance to _try. _

Brilliant white light flashed across his peripheral vision, and quickly he whirled around to discern its source. In the distance, he could see the light as it pulsed and wavered, accompanied by the unmistakable murmur of human voices. One of the shards had activated! he thought, his excitement a palpable thing as he hurried towards the only company he would have this day.

He soared over a particularly high tangle of roots, careful not to let the pointed toes of his leather boots touch them as he hovered past. The last he needed was to trip and hurt himself; it had taken him nearly a year to heal after his last battle with Zidane. He didn't want to find out how long it would take to heal a broken limb, especially as he had never been medically inclined. He knew that broken bones needed to be reset, but how to do so was a mystery to him, and he absolute _refused _to be left with an ungainly limp. He might be a prisoner here in Hell, but he was a beautiful one, and he intended to remain that way.

Kuja glided gracefully over the uneven terrain, eager to be in the company of other people, if only for a little while. He finally reached the source of the light and skidded to a stop so suddenly that the gossamer material of his tunic and kilt flared out around him. He was in luck! It was one of the larger crystals, this one a good seven feet tall and nearly as wide. It would afford him an _excellent _view of whatever was about to happen.

"Oh," he said with not a little disappointment, "it's the little silver boy again."

He quickly chastised himself for his lack of enthusiasm, knowing that he should be grateful to have any company at all. But the pretty young teenager and his two brothers never talked about anything but reuniting with their lost mother, and Kuja had long ago become bored with their conversations. Still, it was another living, breathing person, and even if he couldn't interact with the boy, at least he was no longer _alone. _

The boy was speaking to a white-shrouded figure sitting in a _wheelchair, _of all things, his brothers nowhere in sight. "How bizarre," Kuja murmured to himself, leaning forward to catch the boy's words. "What _are _you up to, my pretty little pest?"

"_We need Mother's power," _the young swordsman was saying, his high, childlike voice tinged with just a hint of impatience. _"The Reunion is coming, and we __**need **__her."_

"_Reunion?"_

Kuja rolled his eyes at that. The man had to be feigning ignorance. After all, reuniting with his mother was only _all _ the boy ever talked about. "Dolt," he muttered with sniff.

"_My brothers and sisters who share Mother's cells will all assemble," _ the silver-haired youth explained, rather unnecessarily, in Kuja's opinion, _"and together we'll take revenge on The Planet."_

The boy sounded so gleeful as he threw his arms and stretched his lithe body, and Kuja had to admit that he was quite stunning—for a budding psychopath. _"We've already sent out the invitations, but. . ." _he let out a creepy little laugh that would have done Kuja proud_, "you know. Someone's gone and hidden the guest of honor."_

"_Invitations?"_ the other man asked, an edge to his voice that didn't go unnoticed by Kuja.

The boy turned his head, and his angelic features took on a cynical cast. _"The 'Stigma,"_ he said, his impatience turning to something a tad more. . .threatening. _"But you know all about __**that**__, sir."_

The boy began to pace before the other man, leaning towards him now and then to emphasize his words—and to intimidate. _"Mother's mometic legacy lives on in the Lifestream and makes it happen."_

He began to laugh as he continued, but Kuja recognized the desperation in the sound, and knew that he was far from happy. _"She does so much for us, and we. . .we don't even know where to find her."_

The silver-haired boy threw both hands down in a helpless gesture. _"But what can we do?" _he asked, the question obviously rhetorical, as he continued to speak without waiting for a response. _"We're just remnants, merely remnants of Mother's legacy. Until we find Mother and receive her cells, we can't be __**whole **__again__**."**_

He stopped directly before the chair-bound man, nearly four feet away, but emanating enough menace that Kuja could feel it even from _here. "Geostigma, and a legacy, aren't enough. Not for a true Reunion," _he said rather ominously.

"_What do you mean?" _ the other man asked, his deep voice taking on a sing-song quality that showed a bewildering lack of either respect or fear for the powerful young man before him.

Luckily for him, the boy seemed to be in the mood to play. Otherwise, Kuja had _no _doubts that the infirm man in the ridiculous white shroud would already be dead. Tilted, catlike green eyes glowed with otherworldly power as they flicked down the man's body. _"But, sir," _ that childlike voice took on a mocking tone, _"surely, you've noticed?"_

The obviously insane young man took a slow step towards the chair, then another, and still yet another, and _finally, _the dim-wit had the good sense to look scared. "Idiot," Kuja told the shrouded moron contemptuously.

The silver-haired youth dropped to one knee before the chair, his asymmetrically-cut hair falling into his face to obscure his features, leaving only one gleaming silver-green eye visible. Kuja raised one violet-hued brow as he watched the boy plant black-gloved fists on the floor and bow his head. "Submission?" he questioned skeptically. "From _this _one? Surely not?"

Sure enough, as the boy began to oh-so-slowly raise his head, Kuja saw the truth of it. The supplicant's pose hadn't been meant for the covered man in the wheelchair, but for the powerful being that dwelled _inside _of the boy.

Kuja's breath caught as he moved closer to the Crystal shard, mesmerized by the perfect, angelic features which superimposed over the boy's. A straight nose, high forehead, stunningly arched cheekbones. Bow lips, which curved into a cruelly beautiful smile, rested above a gently rounded chin. Gossamer strands of fine silver hair, shades lighter than his own, fell around that stunning face, drawing attention to its leanness, as well as its utter perfection.

But it was his _eyes _which held Kuja spellbound. A pale, shimmering emerald-green, they glowed from beneath a fringe of heavy silver-gold lashes. Thin slashes of the purest ebony contracted in those radiant depths, the elliptical pupils reminding Kuja of a cat—a very large, very beautiful, very _deadly _cat.

"Oh, my," he breathed, fascinated as he watched the boy and the angel fight for control of the boy's body. The angel began to lose, his visage flickering madly as his power began to fade. Those incredible, powerful eyes flicked in his direction, the smile deepening for just a moment, and Kuja gasped in shock. The angel had _seen _ him.

The Crystal began to dim, and he reached out in a desperate attempt to stop it. "Wait!" he cried, laying both hands on the damaged surface. "Don't go! Don't leave me! Come back, damn you!"

The shard went dark, reflecting nothing more than his own visage, and Kuja cursed as he jerked away. Of course, he thought bitterly. Far be it that he be allowed any sort of comfort, especially of _that _nature. He was here to atone, not to get laid.

He snorted at his own thoughts and threw himself down on the ground. Crossing his legs before him, he stared hard at the opaque shard, as though he could bring the angel back by will alone. Nothing happened, of course, and he was left alone once more.

Kuja sighed heavily and glanced around the large leaf, knowing that he should go back to the makeshift quarters he had fashioned for himself up above. It rained quite often here, and he absolutely abhorred getting caught in the torrential downpours. But he found himself loathe to leave this spot, where he'd had his first true human contact in years. Surely, the angel would return?

Of course, he would, Kuja assured himself. He'd seen the boy countless times over the course of his imprisonment, and since the angel dwelled within him, it stood to reason that he would return as well. Especially, since he had gotten a good look at _Kuja._

Kuja smiled to himself, the gesture rife with the confidence of one who knew his own worth. He was beautiful—slender and delicate-looking, with a supple body and a near-perfect face. But more importantly, he was powerful. The man—the _angel—_would appreciate such power. Of that, Kuja was certain. The man would have to be stupid not want him, and Kuja _knew _that wasn't the case. Intelligence had burned in that beautiful, unusual gaze, and Kuja could only wait and hope that his angel regained enough of his strength to reach out to him again.

"It will happen," he murmured, extending his legs and stretching out on the spongy ground before the Crystal. "There may not be a way out of this hell, but there _has _to be a way in. He'll come. I know it."

He rolled over onto his side, his sky-blue gaze locking onto the shard, and settled in for a long wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Plot Synopsis: **SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =) Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods!

**Author's Note: **This story will contain no tail or wing kink, so please, don't ask. That said, I hope you enjoyed the beginning of this tale =).

**_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_****_SKSKSKSKSKSKSKSKSK_**

**Final Fantasy: Final Requiem**

Chapter Two

"Arrrggghhh!" Kuja threw the wooden bowl he'd been carving as hard as he could, gratified to see it split as it hit the massive trunk of the Tree. "That's it. I am _done."_

He surged to his feet and kicked the pile of wood at his feet, frustration gnawing at him as he watched all his hard work roll off the edge of the leaf. He wasn't sure how long he'd been here—he'd stopped keeping track a _long _time ago—but it was long enough to tell him that his angel was _not _coming back.

"Not _my _angel," he mumbled, fighting back the sudden, unexpected stinging in his eyes as he pointed one slender finger at the silent Crystal shard. "And no, I am _not _going to cry over you. You just stay right where you are, trapped inside that little boy, and go about your business. I'll be just fine without you!"

He felt a surge of anger, the majority of which was aimed at himself. He had stubbornly waited for the angel to reappear, even going so far as to begin building a crude shelter to protect himself from the elements, only to be disappointed—again. Not one of the crystals had activated since the angel's first appearance, and Kuja was beginning to think that they never would. The angel had been a tease, a joke at his expense, one designed to torment him in his much-deserved hell.

And the worst part was that it had _worked. _For the first time since his "death" so long ago, he had felt something besides regret and loneliness and utter boredom. That brief glimpse of perfection had left him breathless, exhilarating him in way that the most pleasing of his past lovers had not. They hadn't even spoken, and yet Kuja had arrogantly assumed that the man would come for him, that he would overcome _any _obstacle that got in his way, so long as it led to _him. _

Kuja knew that his ego was vast—he _was _the most powerful being on either Gaia or Terra—but his confidence had been well-earned. His only rejection had came from Garland, his bastard creator, who had mistrusted him simply because he was _too _powerful. Never before had a potential _lover_ turned him away, and Kuja had to admit that it hurt—badly.

"Apparently, you're a stupid man, after all." He reached up and flicked at his long, two-toned hair, knowing that there was no one there to appreciate the seductive gesture, but needing the ego-boost all the same. "So, you changed your mind. That's a hardly a reason for me to lose my poise. You most certainly aren't worth _that."_

He cast one last, venomous glance at the silent Crystal and turned away. "I'm done, angel," he said with a careless wave of his hand. "Good luck with the whole body-sharing thing. I hope it works out for you."

Bastard, he added mentally. He would travel back to the top of the Ilifa Tree, where he would be safe from prying eyes, should any human be stupid enough to attempt the climb. He'd seen the rat-faced girl who had traveled with Ziadane—Freya, he remembered—with another of her kind. It had been long ago, but as they'd spoken of repairing the Tree, he'd known that he couldn't allow himself to be found. He could fight if he had to—he still had all of his magnificent powers—but to use his magic in an aggressive manner would only compound his sins, and then his purgatory would become that much worse.

"Not that it could _get _much worse," Kuja mumbled to himself. He'd been alone for so damned _long. _He was a social creature, damn it all! He needed conversation, and comfort, and-and. . ._sex._

Gods, had he truly sunk so low? he asked himself incredulously. Yes, he'd been alone for a long time, but that was no excuse. While he enjoyed sexual relations—whether they with men _or _women—he was _not _desperate. Not quite yet. The day that happened, he'd leave the Tree, atonement be damned. If he was struck down, so be it. He'd rather be dead than live like this much longer!

And, that was exactly what he was trying to change. Kuja shook his silvery head and slowed his pace, doing his best to calm his admittedly high-strung nerves. He didn't want to be that man anymore, the siren who took what he wanted and left devastation in his wake. He wanted to be different, to be _better. _He wanted to earn the redemption that he hoped waited for him, because he'd rather be dead than live through an eternity of _this._

"_On your knees," _a deep voice, laced with contempt, filled the air around him and stopped Kuja dead in his tracks. Could that dark, velvety voice belong to his angel? _"I want you to beg for forgiveness."_

He whirled around, his crystal-like gaze darting to the Crystal shard he'd left behind. It remained dark, its pitted surface opaque, and he frowned delicately. Not here then, he thought as he turned away. He forced himself to ignore his excitement and closed his eyes, his every sense straining for even the slightest hint of that that deep, velvety voice.

But it wasn't words that came to his sensitive ears, but more inelegant, inarticulate sounds. Grunts, to be precise, followed by the all too distinctive sound of metal-on-metal. "A sword-fight, then," he murmured to himself, opening his eyes with a smile. The little silver-haired psychopath had carried a sword. It stood to reason that his. . .alter-ego, or whatever the angel truly was, would as well.

Kuja followed the sounds of battle with an eagerness that would have appalled him at any other time. All he could think was that he had been wrong—his angel _hadn't _abandoned him. He had returned, and this time, Kuja wasn't letting him go. He would find a way to keep his angel with him; he didn't know how he was going to do so, but he was sure he would figure it out. He'd been created with a superior intellect. He might as well put it to good use!

He had to climb down the Tree, coming dangerously close to the ground below, before he finally found what he was looking for. The Crystal shard was large, easily the largest he had found so far. It nearly encompassed the circumference of the pod-like leaf—they grew larger the closer they were to the ground—and its surprisingly scar-free surface was alight with life.

The angel was indeed fighting, rivers of that incredible silver hair streaming out behind him, the longest sword Kuja had ever seen clasped in his black-gloved hands. He was attacking with deadly ferocity, each strike so fast that Kuja could barely follow, even with his genetically-enhanced senses. The angel's adversary—a short, slender boy with strangely-spiked blond hair-was parrying with impressive skill, but it was only a matter of time before he became overwhelmed. Kuja's angel was _obviously _the better swordsman.

A slight misstep was all it took. The blond warrior ended up overextending himself, and the angel took immediate advantage. Those brilliant, astonishing emerald eyes gleamed ferally as a leather-clad knee came up, and the blond went flying. He landed in a pile of what appeared to be rubble, a thick cloud of dust rising up in his wake, and the angel made a sound that suspiciously resembled a grunt—an elegant, disdainful grunt.

Kuja couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at his angel's actions. Apparently, he found his adversary as unimpressive as Kuja himself did. "Beautiful," he murmured appreciatively, watching as his powerful, perfect angel lift that amazing sword—Gaia, but it had to be at least seven feet long!—and prepared to attack again. The silver-haired god drew the massive katana up until it was on level with his left shoulder, its wickedly-curved blade gleaming brilliantly, despite the lack of light. The angel began to run, his gaze locked intently on the rubbish pile, his intent all too clear. He was going to kill the little blond swordsman, and rid himself of what he undoubtedly considered an unworthy adversary.

"Which I'm sure he is," Kuja told the other man, though he knew could not hear him. As Kuja inched closer to the Crystal—careful to keep his slick-soled boots firmly on the leaf's massive stem, he could only admire the beautiful lethality with which his angel was about to strike. "I'm quite sure that _you _have no equal."

To Kuja's surprise, an electric-blue glow began to emanate from the rubbish pile. As his angel zoomed ever closer, moving so quickly that he was little more a blur of black-and-silver, the blond swordsman burst from the heap of damaged metal. The blue glow _was _his angel's opponent, his entire body engulfed in a maelstrom of kinetic energy. He was entering the Trance state, his heightened emotions triggering the change in his body, turning it into a lethal weapon.

He sprang at Kuja's angel, his missive broadsword swinging to meet the angel's katana, and Kuja unconsciously moved closer to the Crystal. "Be careful, angel," he whispered worriedly. "You know how deadly Trance can be."

Luckily, the silver-haired warrior was ready for him. As the two swords cut and thrust and parried, his angel's intent expression changed to one of indifference and Kuja realized that he had become _bored _with the battle. Kuja was willing to bet that, much like himself with magic, his angel had no equal when it came to swordplay. He was as unique as Kuja, and the sorcerer determined right then and there that if there was any way to claim him, he would.

The blond swordsman leapt at his angel, lightning quick, and he watched his beautiful one's head come snapping up. His incredibly long sword came up with it, and Kuja laughed again as the blond ended up impaled on its impressive length. The blue glow dissipated, the Trance state dispelled by physical pain, and the boy was merely a boy again.

Kuja watched proudly as his angel smiled with dark enjoyment and lifted the boy one-handed. "Magnificent," he murmured with awe, both hands flattening themselves on the shard's surface as he strove to get even closer. "You are as strong as you are beautiful, angel. I can't wait to get those clothes off of you!"

"_Is this the pain you felt before. . ." that voice sounded, steel wrapped in warm velvet, " . . .Cloud? Let me remind you. This time, you won't forget."_

The boy—Cloud—looked terrified, and Kuja couldn't blame him. He was obviously outclassed, and he was about to die a horribly painful death. Fear was perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. "Finish him, angel," he urged, his smooth, honeyed voice rough with anticipation. "Finish him, and come to _me."_

As though in answer to his urgent demand, his beautiful gilded god responded. As the wind swept over the two fighters, an incredible, nearly unbelievable phenomenon occurred. A positively _huge _shape sprung from the angel's back, sleek and black and undeniably beautiful. How fitting, Kuja thought, trembling as his excitement threatened to overwhelm him, his angel had a _wing_.

Beneath his own kilt, his tail unfurled, swishing as he realized just how much he and his angel truly shared. Much like himself, his angel was _different. _They were both beautiful, powerful, lethal, and not quite human. It was simply. . .perfect.

The genome pressed his nose against the old surface of the shard, his diamond-bright eyes never leaving the perfect beauty before him. The angel lowered his sword just a touch, and then snapped it up with enough force to send the blond flying into the air. The tall warrior dropped into a half-crouch, that gorgeous wing folding in on itself, as he launched himself high into the air.

Kuja followed his angel with his eyes, unable to look away, as that immense katana struck the blond swordsman in a blur of motion. Blood rained from the sky, splattering the uneven ground below, before the angel flung his poor opponent from the sky. The boy landed with a sickening sound, and crater forming from the force of the impact, and Kuja felt an unwilling sympathy for him. Death was never a pleasant thing, but at least he had expired at the hands of a superior being. It was a better death than most were given.

To Kuja's utter astonishment, the fallen warrior stirred, shaking from head to foot as he struggled to rise. How he had survived a fall of that magnitude, Kuja would never know, but if the blood pooling beneath him was any indication, he wouldn't last much longer. The boy finally pulled himself to his knees, leaning heavily on his sword as he continued to bleed, but was too weak to stand. Yep, he was a dead man.

Kuja turned his attention to the angel hovering above him, godlike in his perfection, and shivered delicately. What he wouldn't give to join him right now, to feel that lean body pressed against his own, to cover himself in the silky veil of his angel's gilded hair. He sighed as he imagined sinking his fingers into that silken curtain and pulling those sensual bow lips to his own. The beautiful black wing would wrap around him, of course, and the downy softness would only add to the pleasure of their union.

_"Tell me what you cherish most." _His angel spoke, his words obviously directed at another, and yet Kuja was helpless to look away. _"Give me the pleasure of taking it away."_

The boy gazed up at Kuja's angel with a hopeless expression, only then acknowledging his own defeat. As he struggled to stand and lift his oversized sword, the angel made his move. He drew that massive katana back over his left shoulder, every movement slow and deliberate, before shooting forward in a literal blur of motion.

Kuja tensed, riveted by his angel's unparalleled perfection, when his spiky-haired adversary did something unexpected. The young warrior lifted his oversized sword, his expression changing to one of fierce determination, and jumped to meet him. Two swords met a great metallic clang, and Kuja was shocked as the blond swordsman actually managed to _shove _the angel away.

Where had he found the strength?

The thought flitted through Kuja's mind, quickly lost as he watched his angel jump and twist through the storm-darkened air. He hovered above the boy once again, the darkness in his soul all too tangible, a dark god gilded in moonlight. _"I pity you. You just don't get it at all," _the boy told him with surprising fierceness. _"There's not a thing I __**don't **__cherish."_

A short, amused laugh escaped the angel. It was barely audible, but it was enough to make Kuja sigh with appreciation. Steel wrapped in velvet, life cloaked in darkness. Gaia, but he loved that voice!

The little blond warrior swung his sword in circles above his head, pulling back over his shoulder for what Kuja immediately recognized as a death-strike. The smile never left his angel's lips as he whipped his massive katana to his right, and then both swords clashed with a terrible sound. An electric-blue light surrounded the boy's oversized sword, dancing along is edge like lightning. The boy was Trancing—_again_—and Kuja was worried_._

"Come on, angel," Kuja urged, hating the feeling of foreboding that suddenly crept over him. Both men remained locked in a tense stalemate, each others' over-bright gazes locked on the other's, completely consumed by the struggle between them. The boy should have been dead many times over, and the fact that he was still moving and breathing and fighting was more than unexpected—it was downright _unnatural. _It was almost as if some unknown, unseen force were guiding his hand, leading to what Kuja suddenly feared would be a victory over his beautiful, perfect angel.

"Kill him, angel!" he called out, pushing against the glass as he desperately sought to warn the other man. "Kill him _now, _before he has a chance to—!"

Kuja's words ended on a gasp, his crystal-blue eyes widening dramatically, as he saw what happened next. The blond warrior's sword, still swimming in kinetic energy, seemed to burst its metallic seams. It came apart, separating into six glowing blades, each of a different size and shape. They formed a circle around his angel, floating in a barrier of brilliant blue light, and then the slaughter began.

The blond swordsman shot higher into the air, grasping the first sword, and then dove towards his adversary. The angel looked confused, almost lost, as the other man became nothing more than a blur of motion. He moved so quickly that not even Kuja could follow his progress, but he could _hear _it. The sickening sound of metal striking flesh, the low grunts of his angel—too proud to scream—in a concerto of painful accompaniment.

And then the angel's defeat was complete. The blond landed on the ground with a fierce sound, holding one hand up to the sky. He wasn't reaching for the man he had just devastated with such violence, but for his sword. It landed in his hand with an audible sound, the other four blades falling to embed themselves in the concrete around him. He looked up, his too-young features showing a peace that hadn't been there before, as he began to speak.

_"Stay where you belong," _he ordered in a quiet voice, _"in my memories."_

Kuja's angel looked down at him—look at _me, _angel—the hint of a smirk still buried in those shining cat eyes. A think black mist emanated from him, a manifestation of something beyond Kuja's comprehension, but one thing was certain. He had lost this fight, but he would _never _be defeated.

"_I will. . .never be a memory."_

"No!" Kuja cried, realizing that he was about to lose contact with his angel, maybe forever. "You can't leave me, again! You can't! Angel, please, _take me with you!"_

Time seemed to slow as those beautiful, deadly green eyes finally focused on him. Angelic bow lips curved on one side, the smile both an acknowledgement and a tease. His wing—that perfect, night-black wing—began to move, folding with the slowest of motions, and Kuja nearly panicked. He strained against the Crystal's hard surface, desperate to reach him, somehow _knowing _that if he didn't reach his angel now, before his wing forever veiled him, he never would.

Kuja forgot about his punishment, the redemption he had always hoped to earn, as he struggled to reach the man who had brought his spirit back to life. He didn't know if it was the pity of the gods, or the strength of his angel's incredible will, but the impossible finally happened. He passed through the crystallized stone as though it were nothing, gliding into the air of a foreign word, and into the arms of perfection.

Kuja wrapped his arms around a strong, pale neck, shuddering as powerful arms closed around him in return. He gazed up into that beautiful, angelic face, spellbound, and said, "Hello, angel," in a breathless voice.

A deep laugh escaped the man holding him, and then the wing closed around them, enveloping them in comforting darkness. "Hello, little monkey."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Plot Synopsis: **SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =) Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods!

**Author's Note: **You might have noticed that I changed the title of the story. I really didn't like the original, and Final Requiem is much for fitting for Kuja. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and please, review if you do. Kuja likes the attention=). I'd like to thank my beta, Littlehouseinthewoods, for her feedback and phenomenal proof-reading skills. She keeps my stories readable. Thanks, LH =).

**_sksksksksksksksksksksksk_****_sksksksksksksksksksksksk_****_sksksksksksksksksksksksk_****_sksksksksksksksksksksksk_****_sksksksksksksksksksksksk_**

**Final Fantasy: Final Requiem**

Chapter Three

They were falling.

Kuja squeezed his eyes shut as they tumbled through the suddenly icy air, clinging to the man who held him with all of his might. He could feel the rush of bitter cold that penetrated the downy veil of the angel's wing and shivered as his enhanced body strove to compensate for the rapidly falling temperature. The angel's arms tightened around him, molding him to the perfection of that tautly-muscled body, but Kuja was too frightened to properly appreciate it.

Because they were _falling,_ he thought with a rush of panic. Not flying, where that stunning wing could actually be of _use, _but _plummeting _ through the sky to what would most assuredly be a horrifically painful death. Had his angel lost so much strength that he could no longer fly? Or was that streak of cruelty that Kuja had sensed in him coming to the fore?

As disturbing as both thoughts were, Kuja found himself praying for the latter. He had already died once, and it wasn't an experience he was eager to repeat. If scaring ten years off his life was his angel's idea of playtime, he could deal. He'd just have to teach the beautiful man that there were other, more _enjoyable_ ways to pass the time.

But not right _now, _Kuja thought as he fought back a wave of hysteria. All of his considerable mental resources were focused on finding a way to land them that _didn't _ require them becoming a splat of unrecognizable genetic material on the ground below. His angel couldn't—or wouldn't—save them, so it was up to _him to _do so.

Kuja turned his face into the other man's throat—Gaia, but his skin was _soft_—and forced himself to concentrate on the unpleasant reality of their impending deaths. He called on one of his natural abilities, one unrelated to his superior skills as a mage, and hoped that _it _was strong enough to carry two people. Otherwise, they were dead, plain and simple.

He called it Glide, although it really didn't have a name. It was an ability that was unique to _him, _consisting of nothing more than a simple manipulation of the molecules in the air currents around him. With no more than a thought, he was able to slow their frantic descent, which was enough to ease Kuja's fears. They would survive and—hopefully—he would finally be able to claim what was his.

They floated to the ground in a gracefully gradual descent which had Kuja smiling smugly against his angel's throat. He'd just shown the other man that he was strong enough to play with him on his own level, and if the bulge he felt rising against the top of his thigh was any indication, his angel positively _loved _knowing it.

He wiggled in the other man's arms, letting his own appreciation be known, and was rewarded with a knee-jerking laugh. That low, velvety voice was darkness incarnate, and the sound of it sent shivers of pleasure through Kuja's body. He felt quivering lips touch his head as more laughter spilled forth, and knew that he had pleased him. He tried to lift his head, to capture the other man's lips with his own, and was denied as strong hands held him in place.

He sighed with a combination of relief, disappointment, and frustration as his angel's feet finally touched the ground. He waited impatiently for the other man to put him down and retract his wing, so that he could look up and _see _the gorgeous face hovering so close to his own, and was shocked when he was unceremoniously dropped on his ass.

An embarrassingly _un-_masculine yelp escaped him as his ass hit the cold, hard, _wet _ground. He scowled up at the other man, who was watching him with a small, amused smile, and exploded. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" he demanded, surging to his feet on a wave of righteous anger. "I saved our lives—_your _ life—and _this _is how you repay me?"

"We were never in any danger," the angel told him in a dangerously soft voice. He held out one black-gloved hand and curled it in an impatient beckoning gesture, his thick ebony wing flapping slightly in accompaniment. "Now, come to me, little monkey. I must heal."

Kuja lifted one silver-violet brow in a haughty gesture. "I _don't _think so," he said sharply, rising to his feet and pulling his damp kilt away from his frozen ass. "After the stunt you just pulled, you're going to have to _work _to get back in my good graces!"

The smile slipped as the other man dropped his arm, but Kuja didn't notice as he discreetly reached beneath the sodden cloth and rubbed his aching tail. He made sure that the angel couldn't see it—he was quite ready to reveal that part of himself yet—but groaned as he realized that it was going to be sore for quite some time to come. His angel had dropped him a _tad _too hard.

"You know, I like a sense of humor in a man, but you took your little joke a bit too far," he continued, withdrawing his hand and trying to arrange the wet material around his bare thighs. "Gaia, but I'm soaked. Where are we, anyway? And what the hell is that smell?"

"That is the scent of mako, as you well know." The other man narrowed his eyes, although though the look in their brilliant depths was one of curiosity, not anger. "Do you truly think to defy _me, _my pretty little marionette?"

"Marionette?" Kuja echoed with outrage, images of Garland flashing through his mind. "I am no man's puppet!"

"No?" The silver-haired god smiled again, the tips of his gloved fingers just barely grazing the suddenly sensitive skin of Kuja's cheek. "Then what are you, little monkey, if not mine?"

Kuja couldn't respond as that simple, nearly platonic touch sent fissions of heat shooting through him. He leaned into the gentle touch, his eyes fluttered closed as he enjoyed the pleasure of simple human contact. It had been so long since anyone had touched him. . .

He forgot that he should be angry with the other man, or what had prompted his outrage in the first place. Every fiber of his being was focus on the magic of his angel's touch, and of the passion that it promised.

"I almost wish this wasn't necessary," his angel murmured, opening his hand and smoothing it along the delicate line of Kuja's jaw. "You're very beautiful, for all of your defiance. I don't believe I've ever seen another quite like you. Hojo did his job well."

Kuja couldn't halt the pleased smile that spread across his lips at the praise, although he didn't understand all of his angel's words. All while he knew was that he _was _beautiful, and this powerful, perfect _god _of a man appreciated that beauty. If nothing else, Garland had done that much for him.

His angel sighed, the sound light despite the naturally deep timber of his voice. "Unfortunately, Mother won't be denied," he said with something resembling regret. "Open your eyes, little monkey. I want you to greet Reunion with full awareness."

Thick silver lashes swept up, revealing hazy diamond-blue eyes, and Kuja was shocked to see a bright, almost ephemeral light glowing around the other man. A brilliant aquamarine in color, the thin wisps of energy wove around his angel's powerful body like a lover's caress. And in the midst of that startling brilliance, a vague, shadowy form began to take shape. It seethed just under the angel's skin, a blue-skinned demon with blazing violet eyes, and ribbons of long silver hair.

Was his angel. . .Trancing?

Kuja himself had Tranced only once, but the he could well imagine that _his _ physical metamorphosis had been just as shocking to those in observance. He had been enraged at the time, fueled by the remnants of Queen Brahne's greed and lust for power, driven by the knowledge that he had been created to fail. He only vaguely remembered seeing flashes of crimson and alabaster as his skin and clothing transformed into a stunning array of downy feathers. Even his tail had changed, taking on the vibrant scarlet hue of his of fury. He had destroyed an entire world, then. What would his angel do, now?

As though in answer to his silent question, the angel's smile widened, showing just a hint of the cruelty that had so intrigued Kuja. The hand on Kuja's throat tightened fractionally, just enough to hold him in place, and the angel's sword materialized between them. The other man held it to his throat, forcing his head back as the sharp blade pressed lightly, almost teasingly, against his vulnerable skin.

"It's time, little monkey."

Kuja gazed into beautiful, soulless green eyes and read his death in their gleaming emerald depths. "Why?" he asked in a pained whisper. "Are you truly so angry, my angel?"

Those strong, patrician features distorted for an instant, betraying a bewilderment that Kuja didn't understand, before settling back into the cruelly beautiful lines of sadism. "It's what Mother desires," the other man replied simply.

Kuja swallowed hard, wincing as he felt that gleaming silver blade cut ever so slightly into his skin. "You don't want to do this," he warned, his voice almost pleading as he began to gather massive amounts of his spirit energy between his palms. "You really, truly don't."

"Oh?" The other man's wonderfully deep voice took on a mocking tone as he eased Kuja's body closer to his own. "And why is that, little monkey?"

"Because you _won't _live to regret it," Kuja told him, praying that he wouldn't have to unleash the magic singing beneath his skin. "I'm not a part of your world. Whatever's happening to you, I can't stop it. Do you hear me, Angel? Killing me _won't heal you."_

"Do you take me for a fool?" the angel asked scornfully. "I can feel Mother's cells within you. They resonate with mine, calling to me—calling to _her. _I don't know how you survived Reunion, but it doesn't matter. You will be reunited with her soon enough—through _me."_

Kuja's heart was heavy with disappointment as he realized that he would have to kill his beautiful gilded god if he wanted to survive. "I'm sorry, angel," he said, his voice heavy with genuine regret, "but I don't think I'm ready to meet your mother."

The other man's expression showed fury, the likes of which Kuja found all too familiar. "So be it," his angel said very, very softly.

That beautiful body shifted, preparing to strike, and Kuja prepared _himself _ for the beautiful concerto of death. He stared into lovely, silver-sheened green eyes, and opened his palms between them. Holy flared to full, powerful life, the ultimate white magic flashing with achromatic brilliance. He heard a low, deep cry, quickly suppressed, and then the sword separating them disappeared.

Kuja wasted no time, scrambling away from the other man, another spell already building. He didn't know if he would need Flare, but he wasn't taking any chances. As much as he wanted his angel, he wasn't quite prepared to die to have him.

Whirls of pure white light swirled around the leather-clad warrior as he dropped to his knees, and Kuja found himself inching forward in sudden distress. He could almost _feel _the angel's pain, so different from the rage of only moments before, almost as though it were calling to him. What had his angel said about his mother's cells?

Ridiculous, Kuja told himself sharply. He was a visitor to this world; he and his angel couldn't possibly share any genetics. The other man wasn't one of Garland's "perfect" creations. He didn't even possess any of the physical characteristics that would mark him as a Genome. It simply wasn't possible, and Kuja was angry with himself for thinking such a thing, even if only for a moment.

The angel was on his hands and knees now, swaying unsteadily, his glorious wing gone, that sparkling green light all but consuming him. All Kuja could see of him were his eyes, twin orbs of blazing emerald green which betrayed a will even stronger than his own. His angel was filled with a burning desire to _live,_ and it resonated with something deep within Kuja's own heart.

He knew it was a mistake even as he began to crawl towards him. This man was dangerously unstable, trapped in some sort of Oedipal delusion that Kuja didn't understand. He had already proven himself untrustworthy of Kuja's trust, and yet here Kuja was, reaching out to him with a healing hand.

Cursing himself as the worst kind of fool, Kuja reached into that roiling mist of seething aquamarine and called on the only healing spell in his vast arsenal of offensive magic. It was only a mid-level Cura spell, so it wouldn't heal the other man completely, but it would be enough to save the angel's life. His actions _afterwards _would determine whether he kept that life or not.

Kuja knew himself well; two years of solitude had given him a great deal of time for self-reflection. He had learned that while he was _capable_ of compassion, he still possessed the ruthlessness which had served him so well as Garland's Angel Of Death. He had a great capacity for cruelty, and if his angel squandered the precious gift Kuja had given him, he would utterly destroy him, and deal with any regrets later. Kuja was nothing if not a survivor.

The strange blue-green vapor began to dissipate, fading away until only a silver-haired, leather-clad angel remained. Lines of exhaustion marked that proud, beautiful face, and Kuja made a soft sound of sympathy as he eased himself under the other man's shoulders and helped him up. "You owe me your life, angel," he told the other man with inborn arrogance. "Don't make me regret sparing you."

The taller man tensed against him, and then relaxed as that simple action proved taxing for his fatigued body. "Who are you?" he asked, the dark velvet of his voice little more than a strained whisper.

"At this moment, I'm your savior," Kuja replied smugly. He led the other man to an oddly symmetrical slab of stone and carefully lowered him to the ground before it. "But, you can call me Kuja."

"Kuja," the other man repeated dumbly, and he smiled as he seated himself on the damp ground beside him. "That's right, Kuja. Now," he slid his arms around the larger man's shoulders and eased him into a supportive embrace, "rest, angel. We'll talk more once you've recovered your strength."

The angel's head dropped to his shoulder, his stunning emerald eyes sliding closed, and Kuja was moved in spite of himself. He hugged his angel close, turning his face into that stunning fall of hair, and prayed that he wouldn't be forced to kill the other man when he woke.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Plot Synopsis: **SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =) Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods!

**Author's Note: **Surprisingly, I can't think of a damned thing to say, this time. I enjoyed writing the chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it:)

**Author's Note II: **I found something else to write! The poem Kuja quotes is most assuredly _not _mine. It's called The Dark Angel, by Lionel Johnson. Just so you know=)

** sksksksksksksksksksksksk~sksksksksksksksksksksksk~****sksksksksksksksksksksksk~sksksksksksksksksksksksk **

**Final Fantasy: Final Requiem**

Chapter Four

"_Dark Angel, with thine aching lust, to rid the world of penitence. Malicious Angel, who still dost my soul such subtle violence!"_

The man once known throughout Gaia as Shinra's Silver General awoke to the rich, cultured sound of a long-beloved voice. A faint smile tugged at his bow-shaped mouth, a rare phenomenon that few had ever been privileged enough to witness, as he rested against the steady beat of the other's heart. He felt a hand sift through his hair and opened his eyes, his smile widening just enough to betray his contentment. He didn't have to guess which of his two lovers held him so tenderly; even without the poetry, he would have known it to be Genesis. No one else had ever drawn so much enjoyment from toying with his hair as did his mercurial, flame-haired hellcat.

"_Because of thee, no thought, no thing, abides for me undesecrate. Dark Angel, ever on the wing, who never reachest me too late." _

That smooth, musical voice fell silent, and Sephiroth uttered a deep sigh. "Genesis," he murmured with contentment. "Finish your poem, hellcat. I'm curious as to how it will end."

The hand stroking his hair paused, but he paid it no mind as he lowered one black-gloved hand to the pale expanse of his lover's waist. He squeezed with gentle affection, a faint frown tugging at his brow as he realized that Genesis felt much slimmer than he should be. He rubbed his thumb across the hard ridge of muscle that framed the other man's navel, the frown deepening as he realized that this too felt wrong. The skin was too soft, too pale, the muscle it covered well-defined but not pronounced, which told Sephiroth that it couldn't be his hellcat's taut body that pillowed him. But if not Genesis, then _who?_

Sephiroth flicked a glance downward and the frown disappeared, replaced by a rare expression of surprise at the sight which greeted him. Two pale, heavily-muscled legs were encased in thigh-high leather boots, with what he could only assume were thick white stocking protruding from them. The man appeared to be bare from the tops of those stockings to the juncture of his thighs, while a black, ornately-decorated codpiece was strapped to his hips.

And these were most assuredly _not _the sleek, straight lines of his hellcat's hips. They were slightly rounded, flaring from the narrow line of a definitively male waist, bit in a most _un-_masculine way. Especially, as what appeared to be a _skirt _flowed from either side of them, secured by two bands that greatly resembled belts, and were attached to the codpiece. It made for a truly bizarre sight, and Sephiroth wasn't too proud to admit that he was confused. Surely, he wasn't with a _woman? _

Sephiroth shifted, placed his hands on either side of those gently-rounded hips, and pushed himself into a sitting position. He dragged his gaze up the other's body, taking note of the purple half-shirt with the gold trim and the long white sleeves, as well as the elaborate silver shoulder-guards. His eyes moved over a slim, almost delicate neck, up past a stubborn chin and a wide, mobile mouth. He spied a pert, upturned nose and high, broad cheekbones, only to be confronted by the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen.

A lovely, haunting shade of cerulean blue, they gazed into Sephiroth's own without a hint of fear. This unusual, undeniably attractive being _was _a man, and one that Sephiroth was certain he had never seen him before in his life.

He tensed, his body coiling as it prepared for battle, only to be disarmed by a sudden, astonishingly gentle smile. "So, we meet again," the other man said, tilting his head back to maintain eye contact, "my angel."

"_Hello, little monkey."_

Sephiroth frowned as those strange, baffling words flitted through his mind. They were spoken in his own deep tones, laced with what he recognized as amusement, and yet he _knew _that he had never uttered them, because this man was a complete stranger to him. "I don't know you," he all but growled, the menace in his voice enough to send any sane man running for his life.

But, sane or not, Kuja was not just any man. "Of course, you do," Kuja scolded him lightly. "You're the one who drew me from The Tree, remember?"

Sephiroth frowned harder and ducked his head, hiding behind the long veil of his hair, and was disturbed as his gaze was immediately drawn back to the other man. His companion was highly unusual—and certainly attractive enough—to warrant the attention, but this sort of. . ._immediate _interest was not normal for _him_, a man who had been born and raised in Shinra laboratories.

The one thing Sephiroth couldn't help but notice was the fall of heavy silver hair, similar to his own, which fell in layered waves to the smaller man's waist. While this beautiful stranger did not have the glowing green eyes which would mark him as yet another of his clones, there was little doubt in Sephiroth's mind that that was exactly what he was. After all, one _other _had lacked that telltale genetic trait, and he had ultimately been Sephiroth's downfall.

Sephiroth pushed thoughts of Cloud Strife from his mind and concentrated on the half-naked man sitting before him. Even as he watched, one delicate hand came up to brush the hair which hung around his own face, and Sephiroth surprised himself by actually _allowing _the overly familiar caress. Long nails, razor-sharp and _painted, _were ever so careful as they combed through his hair, and Sephiroth's own fascination only deepened. Who was this beautiful, enigmatic man, and was that truly a _feather _he spied in that tousled wealth of heavy silver?

He cleared his throat and pulled away, putting some much needed distance between himself and the bewitching stranger. "What is your name?" he asked in a clipped voice.

Those lush, blush-kissed lips curved into a coquettish smile as a fringe of silvery lashes dropped down to cover vivid blue eyes. "You truly don't remember?" the other man questioned coyly. "I'm rather hard to forget, angel."

Sephiroth fought a sudden, uncharacteristic urge to smile at the young man's brazenness. "If I did, I would not ask," he returned, relieved that he managed to keep his tone severe, if nothing else. "Now, answer the question."

Kuja lifted one violet-streaked silver brow at the stern command. "You're very autocratic, aren't you?" he mused rhetorically. "Well, I'll forgive you your little lapse, because you nearly died, but _don't _forget again." He paused and added, "My name is Kuja, Kuja Tribal."

"Kuja." Sephiroth ignored the rest of the other man's statement as he tested that one word, and decided that he liked the way it flowed from his lips. "You have a highly unusual name, Kuja. One I have never heard before. What does it mean?"

"I vaguely remember the old man mumbling something about one of Terra's ancient war-gods, but it was a long time ago," Kuja dismissed with a shrug. He reached up and began to twirl a lock of his own darker, thicker silver hair around one finger. "And _your _name is. . .?"

Sephiroth's own brow shot up at that. "Surely, you already know," he admonished lightly. "You are one of Hojo's creations, are you not?"

Kuja only shook his head negatively, vaguely recalling the name from his angel's maddened rant. "You've mentioned that name before," he said with another shrug, "but it's not one I know. Now, answer _my _question, angel."

Sephiroth frowned at the epithet, one which he and Genesis had once given to a third, wholly beloved friend. "Why do you call me that?" he asked, his voice sharp as he willed the painful memories away.

Kuja sighed, but this time, it wasn't a pleased sound. "Because you are beautifully, angelically perfect," he snapped impatiently. "Why else?"

Sephiroth blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in the other man's mood, which was yet another reminder of the past, although not necessarily an unpleasant one. "My name is Sephiroth," he said at last, waiting for the inevitable horror that would follow the confession. Much to his shock, it never came.

"Sephiroth, hhmmm?" Kuja smiled slowly, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. "What a lovely name, angel. It suits you."

Sephiroth could only gaze at him, stunned by his easy acceptance. "You are not. . .afraid of me?" he asked, scarcely able to believe it.

Kuja thought of the fear he had felt so briefly, and then shook his fair head. "You are a very powerful man, but in _that_ we are equals. You don't scare me, angel." He observed the other man's surprised expression and added, "Sorry."

"No, don't be." Sephiroth cleared his throat, unable to halt the smile which came to his lips. "It is. . .a relief, not to be feared."

Kuja only laughed, the lyrical sound echoing through the cavernous space, and filling Sephiroth with unexpected warmth. "Oh, angel," the younger man said laughingly, "there are worse things than being feared. But don't worry, you won't have to deal with them so long as _I _am around."

Sephiroth stared at him with a bemused expression. "You think to protect _me?"_ he questioned humorously.

Kuja touched a violet-tipped nail to his lips in a teasingly. "Among other things," he returned in a sultry voice.

It was Sephiroth's turn to laugh as he captured that delicate hand in his own, even as he wondered at his own behavior. He had never been one to "flirt" with such ease. "You are very much the tease," he hesitated, unable to fight the compulsion to add, "little monkey."

Kuja smiled with genuine pleasure and leaned closer. "You know," his breath wafted over Sephiroth's lips, which parted automatically in response, "you're the only one who's ever gotten away with calling me that. I _must _like you."

Sephiroth merely shook his head and scrutinized the other man's fingernails, only absently noting the deep violet gloves that left those elegant fingers bare. "Why do you paint them?" he asked, running one gloved fingertip over the shiny violet surface. "It is an unusual thing for a man to do."

"I don't." Sephiroth glanced up at him, and he graciously explained, "It's my natural coloring. I developed differently than the others."

"Ah." And with those words, Sephiroth realized that Kuja's denial had been a lie. He _was _one of Sephiroth's clones, and was probably too afraid of being absorbed by him to admit it. Sephiroth tried to ignore the sense of disappointment that came with the knowledge as he released Kuja's hand and rose to his feet. "We should go. This is not a safe place for us."

Kuja nodded his gilded head and stood, seemingly unaffected by Sephiroth's abrupt withdrawal. He raised slender arms above his head in a languorous stretch, and Sephiroth's eyes flicked down his lithe body of their own accord. He watched the play of muscles beneath that snow-white skin with a nearly-forgotten hunger, and was forced to admit that this particular clone was the most aesthetically pleasing of any he had previously encountered.

Kuja was looking up at the free-floating rock platforms that marked the trail out of The Planet's core, his crystal-blue eyes showing nothing more than curiosity, which led Sephiroth to believe that he had only recently escaped whatever laboratory he had been imprisoned in. And as uncomfortable as he was with the newfound knowledge of the young man's origins, Sephiroth knew that he couldn't leave him behind. Jenova would make short work of him, no matter how powerful he believed himself to be. As of now, he was Sephiroth's responsibility, whether he liked it or not.

"Where are we?" Kuja asked, placing his hands on his white-clad hips, and Sephiroth had to admit that he didn't _dislike _it. "You never did answer that question."

"That may be because I don't recall you asking it," Sephiroth answered shortly. "We're at the heart of the Northern Crater."

Kuja sent him a dark look, and he frowned as he added, "We are in The Planet's core, Kuja. A place we should not be."

And then he felt it. The stirring deep within himself, the uncoiling of something dark and malevolent and utterly insatiable. It was a sensation he had felt only once before, when he had lost his mind and slaughtered the inhabitants of a small mountain community, and one he had hoped never to feel again.

"Come, little monkey," he intoned urgently, his pale gaze searching the green-tinged air around them. "We must leave before she gathers enough power to overtake us."

"She?" Kuja questioned sharply, an image of blue-skinned death dancing behind his eyes. "Please tell me that doesn't mean what I think it does?"

Sephiroth's gaze turned inward for a long, tense moment, and Kuja knew that it did. "Angel—"

"Mother stirs," Sephiroth murmured distractedly, and then mentally forced himself back to awareness. He glanced at Kuja and hesitated before slowly extending his right hand. He was unsure as to why he felt moved to do so; he only knew that he did. "Take my hand, Kuja. We will leave this place together."

The young man sent him a delighted smile and placed his hand in Sephiroth's own, and Sephiroth tamped down a pang of pity. It wasn't the other man's fault that he felt this compulsion towards _him. _It was the Reunion effect, a byproduct of the alien cells that they shared with The Calamity From The Skies. Kuja couldn't help but be drawn to him, and Sephiroth wasn't quite cruel enough to turn him away. They were a family, if in a twisted fashion, and Sephiroth had learned from his mistakes. This time, he would protect his own.

He called to Masamune, watching with satisfaction as it materialized in his left hand, and leapt to the first platform. Kuja let out a startled cry, followed by a string of curses, as he was dragged along in Sephiroth's wake. Sephiroth hid a smile behind the veil of his hair, tightened his hold, and quickly jumped to the next. The moment their feet touched stone, Kuja jerked his hand free, shot Sephiroth a venomous look, and simply floated to the third platform.

He stood at its edge, his hands on his hips, a smug smile shaping his rose-colored lips. "Well?" he called out haughtily. "Are you coming or not?"

Sephiroth uttered a deep, soft laugh and launched himself into the air. He landed lightly beside the other man and sent him an amused, yet admiring look. "That was quite a feat, Kuja. When did you discover that you could fly?"

Kuja snorted and tossed his gilded head spiritedly. "I don't fly,angel. I _glide," _he returned haughtily. "There is a distinct difference."

"Hmph." Sephiroth shifted so that his hair hid his sudden smile. "Don't overtax yourself. We have a long way to go, yet."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about _that," _ Kuja assured him, his voice little more than a seductive purr as he reached out and ran one hand up Masamune's considerable length. "I have _exceptional _ stamina."

Not even Sephiroth, with his admittedly limited understand of human nature, could miss the innuendo in those heated words. Subtle, Kuja Tribal was _not. _"I'm sure," he returned, his voice very dry as he lowered Masamune and angled it behind him, out of the other man's reach, "but for now, let's concentrate on making it to the surface in one piece."

"Oh, if we must." Kuja sighed with a regret that was only partially feigned and took a step back. "Lead the way, angel. I'll enjoy the view as I follow."

Sephiroth's smile finally surfaced as he shook his head and turned away. "You are incorrigible, Kuja."

"Merely a small portion of my charms, angel," Kuja assured him breezily. "Now, can we _please _get the hell out of here? This stench is revolting."

Sephiroth nodded, understanding Kuja's revulsion all too well. The singularly acrid scent of mako haunted many of his nightmares, as well. "Keep up as best you can," he ordered sternly. "The monsters here bear some of the strongest mutations on The Planet. If they corner you, even for an instant—"

"They will die."

It was uttered with such confidence that Sephiroth knew he meant it, and for the first time, he wondered just how powerful this newest incarnation of himself was. He wasted no more time with words, wanting to be away from the crater before Mother—or The Planet—decided to take decisive action against them.

He began to jump up the spiraling series of earthen platforms, careful not to lose his footing on the slick, mako covered surfaces. True to his word, Kuja never lagged, keeping up with the brutal pace Sephiroth set with all aplomb of a true SOLDIER. He never complained, as Sephiroth had expected, merely commented on the changes in their surroundings along the way. He surprised Sephiroth with his restraint, as well as his ability to assess their situation analytically. It was something that even Kadaj, the most powerful of his past remnants, had struggled with. Kuja was a part of himself he could truly take pride in, as warped a sentiment as that was.

They ran into fewer monsters than Sephiroth had anticipated, mostly Scissors and Parasites, but nothing that Sephiroth himself couldn't handle. Kuja was disappointed that he hadn't been given a chance to fight—Sephiroth suspected that he wanted to prove himself to him—but Sephiroth wasn't in the mood to play. He wanted out of this hellish prison he had spent the last seven years trapped in, and he wanted it _now._

The ground took a sharp upward incline, and the first rays of light became visible near the trail's end. Sephiroth couldn't deny the relief that filled him as the scent of fresh air greeted his deprived senses. The sickening taint of mako would be less intense on the surface, though it wouldn't be gone completely until they put a great deal of distance between themselves and the crater. Still, it was enough to know that they were close to freedom. Sephiroth would wait until they had gained that freedom to decide on a proper course of action.

"We're nearly there," he said aloud, more for Kuja's benefit than his own. "It won't be long, now."

"I know," Kuja replied as he glided gracefully beside him. "I can smell the fresh air from here. Glorious, isn't it?"

Sephiroth sent him a small smile, a gesture he normally reserved for only the closest of his friends. "Yes, it is," he agreed simply.

The younger man made a soft humming sound and floated up ahead of him, his white skirt billowing becomingly around his leather-encased legs. Sephiroth merely gazed after him, still struck by the young man's unusual choice of attire. While Kuja was undeniably male—even with those decidedly feminine hips—his flowing clothing lent him an intriguing air of androgyny, one only enhanced by the unruly tumble of his silver hair, as well as his remarkably sensual facial features.

He was undoubtedly the most visually striking of all of Sephiroth's clones, but he was also the most. . .individualistic. Unlike those which Mother had commanded during her insane quest to call Meteor, Kuja was most assuredly _not _a mindless, sycophantic puppet. He was also far removed from Kadaj, Loz, and Yazoo, in that his personality was not merely a warped reflection of Jenova's ideal of her chosen "son". He seemed wholly sentient, and surprisingly resistant to Mother's influence. Indeed, he hadn't even seemed to _notice _Jenova's presence in the crater, which was impossible for one who carried her horrific legacy. Mother was a part of them, and they of her. It was not something easily ignored, nor fought without considerable strength of will.

Even now, Sephiroth could feel Jenova, weakened but by no means defeated, as she sent out the call for Reunion. Every fiber of his being resonated in response to that call, his stolen cells struggling to break free of their human prison, and return to their source.

Something which _he _would never again allow, Sephiroth vowed determinedly. He had already lost seven years of his life, as well as the lives of his friends, to Heaven's Dark Harbinger. He refused to lose anything more. He would fight Mother's influence, using the indomitable will he had inherited from The Calamity herself, and he would teach Kuja to, as well. There would be no repeat of Nibelheim—on _any _scale—so long as Sephiroth was alive to prevent it.

And that meant keeping his new, overconfident companion at his side. Sephiroth ignored the small jolt of excitement that streaked through him at the thought, focusing instead on using his own considerable abilities to keep Kuja in check. He didn't know what the younger man was capable of—especially since he had yet to see a weapon of any kind—but that he had been created in Sephiroth's image was enough to make him a threat. Not necessarily to _him_—Sephiroth could handle a mere remnant, no matter how powerful—but to The Planet itself.

Gaia had suffered, and was still suffering, from Jenova's machinations. The Planet reeled from the wound that Jenova's arrival had inflicted—from the very wound that he and Kuja now traveled through—as well as the repercussions of what the humans had dubbed "Meteorfall". Sephiroth could only be grateful that his three remnants—and Mother's control of his own enslaved mind—had been unable to complete the Black Materia's silent casting. As much as Sephiroth hated knowing that Geostigma had killed so many, at least their tainted essences had not become a catalyst for The Planet's ultimate destruction. Cloud Strife had seen to _that._

As much as it _still _chafed to know that he had been defeated by a lowly Shinra grunt, Sephiroth found that he _was _ grateful to the quietly fierce young man who had stopped Mother not once but thrice. The Planet lived, though it would likely never be healed, and he himself had been freed by the boy's heroic actions. He owed Cloud Strife a great debt, one that he could never repay. The young warrior had easily lost as much—if not more—than Sephiroth himself once had, and he _knew _how much it had hurt. His pain had been much the same when he had lost first Angeal, and then, Genesis.

Sephiroth turned his thoughts away from his fallen friends, and the anguish that such remembrances brought. They were dead, and he could not bring them back. They were a part of the Lifestream now, their spirits existing in the eternal paradise that was The Promised Land. Sephiroth would not change that, even if he could. It was the very least his beloved friends deserved.

A part of Sephiroth wished that he could join them, that he too could bask in the interminable happiness that was said to wait for the deceased in The Promised Land, but he knew that he didn't deserve such a thing. The Planet had denied him access to the Lifestream, had kept his maddened spirit segregated from the river of souls that flowed beneath its hallowed surface, and Sephiroth had no choice but to accept his ostracization, then and now. He was very much alive, against all rhyme and reason, and he could only do as he had always done. He would accept his lot and live his life as best he could.

What he would not do, however, was announce his return to the world. He had hurt too many, destroyed too much, to ever be forgiven. His madness had been all-consuming, completely eclipsing the ties he'd held as a human being. Perpetually fueled by Mother's psychic hold over him, his rage had known no bounds, and those he'd cared for had suffered the most.

No, Sephiroth thought with a shudder, it would be better if the world continued to believe him dead. He couldn't go back to the life he had once led, and he wouldn't, even if it were possible. He would never allow another to enslave him. He was his own master now, and so it _would_ remain.

"Angel?" He looked up to find Kuja watching him, with just the barest hint of concern buried in the depths of his sky-blue eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Sephiroth realized that he had been standing there for several minutes, lost in the tangled morass of his thoughts. "No," he answered shortly, shaking his head as though the physical action would clear it. He forced his feet to move, to carry him towards Kuja, and away from his accursed prison.

The other man smiled as he approached, his blush-colored lips curving into an openly beguiling smile. He lifted one hand in and ran it through his violet-streaked hair in an elegant, blatantly seductive gesture that was not lost on Sephiroth. He found himself returning that smile very much against his will, and unconsciously quickened his step as he drew closer to the beautiful young man.

Kuja tipped his head back as Sephiroth came to a stop before him, sending his heavy silver mane cascading down his back, and Sephiroth's gaze followed the movement with unconscious hunger. The other man's eyes, pale and diamond-bright, locked confidently onto Sephiroth's own, and Sephiroth shivered as his body reacted in a wholly instinctive way.

He cleared his throat and looked away, shifting to relieve the sudden ache between his legs. "It will be cold on the surface," he said at length, wincing inwardly at the hoarse rasp his voice had become. "It's nothing we can't handle, but. . .are those your _only _ garments?"

He made a short, abortive gesture towards the younger man's kilt, which drew a peal of musical laughter from Kuja. "I'm afraid so, angel," he said with obvious mirth. He cast a glance over his shoulder, where swirling white flakes indicated snowfall, and added, "We'll just have to share body-heat to keep warm."

Sephiroth sent him an exasperated look, and then frowned as another thought occurred to him. "How did you survive the trip here without the proper gear?"

Kuja tilted his head to one side, his flirtatious manner fading as he studied him. "You really don't remember, do you?" he asked in a soft, bemused voice. Sephiroth shook his head negatively, and Kuja surprised him by smiling gently. "Do you really want to discuss this now, angel? Wouldn't you rather wait until we've put some distance between ourselves and _her?"_

So, Kuja _was _aware of Mother, Sephiroth thought, again with that baffling sense of disappointment. He nodded curtly and stepped past him, tightening his hold on Masamune as he took his first breath of fresh air in seven long years. He closed his eyes, feeling the sting of each separate flake of snow as they landed on his deprived skin, and reveling in the sensation.

"Come," he said at last, opening his eyes as he started forward. "Don't fall behind."

"Hhhhhmmmmppphhhh."

He smiled to himself as Kuja harrumphed behind him but didn't look back as he took his first steps out of the Northern Crater. He could hear Kuja as he drifted along behind him, but more importantly, he could _feel _him, and that was enough. They were _free, _and together, they would stay that way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Plot Synopsis: **SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =)

**Author's Note: **This chapter: More Sephiroth, more Kuja (oh, yeah!), and a little verbal bonding. Beta'd once again by the incomparable Littlehouseinthewoods (of course). I thank you in advance for any reviews I might (or might not) receive. They are _always _appreciated. Now, on with the show!

* * *

**Final Fantasy: Final Requiem**

**Chapter 5**

Kuja wrapped his arms around himself tightly, thoroughly miserable as he trudged through an endless expanse of deep white snow. He kept his head bowed in an ineffectual attempt to fight the arctic wind that tore at his hair and clothes, but the ice-crystals forming in his moisture-saturated hair made a mockery of his efforts. Luckily, he could no longer feel the sharpened stings of the wind-driven show—his body had gone numb some time ago. He had tucked his kilt into his boots at one point, hoping to at least partially preserve his body heat, but as it was soaked and half-frozen, it hadn't done much to help. All he could do was continue forward and force his increasingly uncoordinated body to _move, _so that his determined, oblivious companion wouldn't accidentally leave him behind.

He squinted at his angel's back, a silver-and-black blur all but concealed by the blizzard raging around them, and scowled darkly. _He _wasn't having any problems, of course. Sephiroth didn't even seem to _notice _the foul weather as he moved steadily—confidently—through the field of snow and ice. He never once glanced back at Kuja to check on his condition, and Kuja wasn't sure if he should be insulted or not by the man's apparent lack of concern. Sephiroth obviously thought that he could handle himself—and in any normal situation, he could!—but he had never before spent an extended period of time in a cold region. His natural defenses were considerable—certainly greater than any mere human's—but it was quickly becoming obvious that he had _not _been created with such an inhospitable climate in mind.

He'd thought that nothing could be worse than Gaea's Cliff, and the winding, ice-covered, labyrinthine caverns they had traveled through upon leaving the Northern Crater. They had met a large number of monsters in each, and once again, Sephiroth had denied him the opportunity to fight. The other man had simply cut through whatever dropped into their path, leaving Kuja feeling useless, and ultimately superfluous.

Kuja was the first to admit that he wasn't used to following another's lead. He had played the part of the fawning toady for Queen Brahne, but it was _not _his natural temperament, and a part of him resented Sephiroth for forcing him into the role of the helpless canary. He'd known from their first brief, bizarre verbal exchange that his angel was a naturally dominant man, but he hadn't realized just how badly the other man's heavy-handed behavior would chafe his own rebellious soul.

Of course, it hadn't helped that Sephiroth hadn't spoken to him since leaving the caves. He'd tried several times to initiate conversation, only to be ignored by his taciturn companion. Not even when he'd pointed to a lone, two-story cabin at the base of the cliff and suggested that they stop for supplies had his angel responded. Sephiroth had merely grunted and passed it by, striding calmly into the heart of the raging snowstorm, and now Kuja was on the verge of hypothermia as a result.

But he absolutely _refused _to draw Sephiroth's attention to the fact. It would take more than a little snow to kill _him, _and while he was most assuredly not enjoying this little adventure, he was smart enough to keep his complaints to himself. His angel was a warrior, a man who valued strength, both in himself and in others, above all else. If Kuja revealed his weakness—could an aversion to extreme temperatures _really _be considered weak?—he might lose the other man's respect. That was a chance that he simply wasn't willing to take. He would keep up with Sephiroth if it killed him, and he'd be _damned _if he'd snivel like a spoiled child while he did it!

As though in defiance of his own thoughts, Kuja stumbled and fell. He found himself lying face down in the icy drift, covered from head to toe in more of the hated snow. He mumbled angrily under his breath as he sought to right himself, hoping that Sephiroth hadn't noticed his embarrassing little _faux pas, _when he was unceremoniously hauled to his feet. He swayed weakly, reaching out to grasp onto his lifeline, and felt the sensation of strong hands gripping his shoulders. He cringed then, knowing that his angel had seen _everything, _and that he had been well and truly caught.

He raised his head slowly, blinking as more snow fell from his lashes to obscure his vision, and was presented with an angelically beautiful, positively _irate _angel. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he muttered, ashamed of his own weakness, and angry that he was forced to admit to _having _one. "It must be the cold. I'm really not used to it. . ."

Sephiroth gazed down at him with blazing emerald eyes, his patrician features taut with worry as he took in the alarming blue tinge that rimmed the younger man's lips. "Why didn't you say something?" he demanded, concern making his voice unintentionally harsh. "I would have stopped if you had."

Kuja's slender, gently-rounded chin shot up in a defiant gesture. "I'm strong. I can keep up," he insisted obstinately, forcing himself to release his death-grip on the other man's coat. "See? It's only a little snow, angel. Nothing I can't handle."

Sephiroth uttered a fierce curse as the smaller man immediately sagged in his hold, his body unable to support itself in its fatigued condition. He hastily pulled Kuja to him, holding him awkwardly with one hand, while unfastening the buckle that held his trench coat closed with the other. "Give me your hands," he ordered, grabbing one icy appendage and thrusting it into his coat. "_Both_ hands, Kuja."

Kuja scowled but did as he was told, barely feeling the other man's body beneath his frozen hands, only registering a faint, vague sensation of heat. "You're warm, aren't you?" he murmured, shifting even closer as his eyes slid closed. "You don't even feel the cold."

"I feel it," Sephiroth muttered grimly, wasting no more time on talk. He hurriedly unfastened the heavy metal pauldrons that adorned his duster, dropping them to the snow-covered ground and stripping the leather coat from his shoulders and arms. He felt Kuja's slim, wet body begin to slump against his own and hastily jerked the smaller man upright. "No, Kuja, don't go to sleep. You have to stay awake right now."

Kuja uttered a deep, groaning sigh and struggled to open his too-heavy eyes. "I'm strong, but I _am _getting tired, angel."

"I know you are, but you can't sleep yet." Sephiroth watched with alarm as an utterly charming pout form on the other man's lips, but he knew that Kuja was close to succumbing to hypothermia when his eyes remained tightly closed. "Open your eyes, Kuja—open them _right now."_

The stern command brought a fierce scowl to Kuja's delicate, unusual features, but his eyes snapped opened, which was exactly what Sephiroth had intended. He reached around the smaller man and set his trademark black trench coat over those slender shoulders. It took a few minutes to tuck Kuja's hands into the sleeves and settle the duster properly over the pauldrons of his own tunic, but finally it was done. Sephiroth fastened all seven buckles that ran along its front, so that Kuja was covered from just below his knees to top of his hips. He couldn't do much for the other man's bare mid-section, but at least he was properly covered now.

He tightened his hold on Kuja's shoulders and closed his own eyes, concentrating as he willingly—sanely—used the gifts that Mother's cells had bestowed upon for the very first time. He could feel the darkness rising up inside him, the clamor of his body as its cells responded to the call for Reunion, as he drew on the alien power within him. Mother felt him, of course, but she was too weak from her recent defeat to do battle with him. A faint hissing sound came to his ears, accompanied by the faint scent of mako and _other,_ and he knew that his will had finally overridden Jenova's own.

He felt the comforting smoothness of leather as his long coat formed around him, the comforting weight of his pauldrons as they enveloped his shoulders, and smiled to himself. This was one of the few abilities he had gained after his "death" that he didn't mind using. It was very convenient to be able to conjure clothing out of thin air, even if it _was _only his old 1st Class uniform. He had always preferred himself in leather, and Genesis had always declared that the contrast of his beyond-pale skin, silver hair, and deep black clothing was stunning. The appreciative gasp he heard now told him that the effect was not lost on Kuja, either.

"That was incredible, angel. How did you _do _that?"

He opened his eyes to find the other man smiling up at him, admiration shining from the depths of his brilliant, unfocused blue eyes, and felt his own smile fade. Kuja was swaying unsteadily in his grasp, Sephiroth's hands the only thing keeping him upright, and he sighed heavily. Even though he was no longer shirtless, he could feel the difference in temperature in a way that he hadn't before. His core body temperature was dropping at an alarmingly rapid rate, due to his skin absorbing the chilled moisture from countless flakes of snow, and the effect was only compounded by the brisk wind which blew from the east. He could only imagine how worse it was for Kuja, whose scanty clothing revealed far more skin than it concealed, and cursed himself for not having noticed his companion's deteriorating condition sooner.

He hadn't wanted to stop when Kuja suggested it, determined to keep himself—feared and hated as he was—out of the public eye. He had assumed—arrogantly—that because Kuja was a clone of _him, _he could take the low temperatures and grueling pace he had set. So confident had he been in that belief that he hadn't once bothered to turn around and assess Kuja's condition. Not even when Kuja had abandoned gliding in favor of walking almost two hours ago had he inquired after his health. He had heard the other man stomping along behind him and simply assumed that he could keep up.

Sephiroth sighed but didn't speak as he carefully lifted the younger man into his arms. Kuja looped his arms around his neck and offered a dreamy smile, and he winced guiltily. "This is nice, angel," the younger man said in a faint, slurred voice. "The circumstances are less than ideal, but still. . ."

His voice trailed off as he turned his face into Sephiroth's neck, nuzzling him with an ice-cold nose, and Sephiroth gave him a careful squeeze in response. "I'll find a place to make camp," he said, his voice little more than a murmur as he started forward. "You'll be able to sleep, then. Just stay awake a little while longer."

"Oh, if I must." Those pale blue eyes, normally so vibrant and clear, were dull with fatigue as he tipped his head back just enough to gaze at Sephiroth's profile. "You're not angry with me for lagging behind, are you?"

Sephiroth choked back another curse and managed a tight smile for the exhausted young man. "No, I'm not angry with you, Kuja."

"You'd better not be," Kuja grumbled crossly as he lowered his head once more. "I really did try to keep up with you. I've just never been in a place this damned _cold_ before_."_

Again, Sephiroth found himself wondering how Kuja, so scantily—if attractively—clad, had made his way to the Northern Crater without freezing to death. "You did well," Sephiroth he told him, forcing himself to set his questions aside. There would be time enough to voice them later, once Kuja had recovered from _his _carelessness. "The fault lies with me for not checking on you sooner. It won't happen again, I promise you."

"Oh, angel, I know that _you _would never intentionally hurt me." Kuja smoothed his cheek against the bare skin of his angel's face, frowning faintly as his tender skin began to sting. He knew it was a good sign, because it meant that his circulation was returning, but it _hurt _like hell! "Gaia, but you're _warm. _Why didn't _you_ freeze without your coat?"

"My body is highly resistant to most kinds of damage," Sephiroth replied absently, his eyes narrowing as he spotted what appeared to be a small cluster of trees up ahead. He tightened his hold on Kuja and strode determinedly towards it. "I believe I've found a potential campsite, Kuja. Once I've cleared the area of snow, I'll gather some wood and start a fire. We'll rest there until you've regained your strength."

Kuja tightened his hold on Sephiroth's neck and lifted his head just enough to see the spot he had chosen. The copse of trees _was _small, and more of the hated snow had piled up against beneath their stick-like limbs. "How are you going to clear it?" he asked curiously. "I highly doubt that impressive sword of yours doubles as a shovel."

"Not hardly," Sephiroth returned with a touch dryness. "A simple Fire spell will be sufficient, I should think."

"And leave the ground covered in ash and soot? I think not." Kuja snorted in a pale imitation of his usual liveliness and lifted one delicate hand, waving it rather dramatically in the general direction of the trees. "Allow _me _to take care of it, angel."

Much to Sephiroth's astonishment, several small orbs of purplish-black light appeared, descending upon the small coppice and circling the trees in an oddly beautiful display. They took on a telling red- gold glow as they grew in size, pulsing in time with whatever force had conjured them, before exploding in a radiant flash of pure white flame. The ground beneath the trees was not only free of snow and ice, but dry and _clean, _as well.

"There, that should do it." Kuja smiled, inordinately pleased with himself, as he curled his hand around Sephiroth's neck once more. "There will be no sleeping in filth for _us."_

Sephiroth gazed down at his beautiful, undeniably unusual companion, who was smiling just a bit smugly as he lay curled up against him, and shook his head in stunned disbelief. Kuja had just cast one of the most powerful, devastating magic spells on The Planet, and he had done it _without _Sephiroth sensing the presence of materia, or uttering the incantations necessary to cast it. Magic materia gave off a very specific sort of energy to those sensitive to it, and Sephiroth had _always _been able to detect it. But even now, as his gaze moved with hidden hunger over the smaller man's form, he could sense nothing that would indicate that Kuja was—or ever had been—in possession of materia.

The conclusion he reached was one he could hardly credit, but was unable to deny as he had witnessed the truth of it with his own eyes. "You're a natural mage," he breathed, not even attempting to conceal his surprise—or his wonder. "I wouldn't have believed it possible."

"Why so surprised, angel?" Kuja uttered a haughty—albeit tired—laugh. "Just because I wield magic and _not _a giant sword doesn't mean that I can't defend myself."

Well, it certainly explained the lack of weaponry, Sephiroth thought with a shake of his head. Aloud, he merely said, "I truly didn't think such a thing was possible, not without pure Cetran blood. Hojo truly has outdone himself with _you._"

"That, again?" Kuja said with a long-suffering sigh. "Who _is _this Hojo you keep babbling about, and what is a Cetran?"

Sephiroth frowned down at him, wondering if he was deliberately being obtuse, or if he truly did not know. "Professor Hojo is the scientist who created us," he explained slowly. "He was an inexperienced man assigned to take over the work of a great scientist, Professor Gast Faremis."

He smiled faintly, though the gesture was tinged with sorrow. He had liked Professor Gast, trusted him, until the day the old man had deserted Shinra with Hojo's prize specimen—the Ancient Ilfalna. "Gast was the man originally responsible for unearthing Jenova," he said in belated explanation, "whom he mistakenly believed to be an Ancient—one of the Cetra."

At Kuja's blank look, the frown deepened, giving Sephiroth's face a severe look. "He's one of the scientists who first discovered Mother, Kuja."

Kuja shivered at the thought of _her, _that powerful, disturbing female demon that his angel called "Mother". "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not related to that-that blue-skinned _creature _I saw in the crater_," _he said with a moue of disgust. "Your Hojo didn't create me. A crazy old Terran named Garland did."

Sephiroth's lips thinned at the description of Jenova, even as he was forced to admit that it _was_ apt. "I've never heard that name before," he mused thoughtfully. "Perhaps, he was one of the scientists hired by Shinra after my. . .after I left."

"Highly doubtful," Kuja told him drolly. "Garland was a geneticist, but _he _was created by the Terrans to save their planet. I don't know how many souls they sacrificed to give him the knowledge he needed, but the old bastard was truly brilliant. I mean," he shrugged and made a languid gesture towards his own slender, leather-wrapped form, "he made _me, _didn't he?"

No modesty there, Sephiroth thought, reluctantly amused as he was reminded of another time, and another beautiful, overconfident man. He shook his head, as though the physical action would dispel thoughts of Genesis Rhapsodos, and focused on the slight young man in his arms. "You said 'their planet'?" he queried as his frown deepened. "Exactly what do you mean by that?"

Kuja shrugged and tucked his icy fingers under the duster's surprisingly warm sleeves. "I suppose I should call it my planet as well, but as I spent most of my formative years gathering souls on Gaia, Terra truly didn't seem like home to me."

Two fine silver brows shot up in an expression of incredulity as Sephiroth stopped dead in his tracks. "Are you trying to tell me that you're from another _world, _Kuja?"

That stubborn little chin came up even as lovely young mage smiled beguilingly. "That is precisely what I'm telling you, angel."

Sephiroth didn't even attempt to hide his disbelief, and was chagrined when Kuja reached up and patted his cheek condescendingly. "It's all right, Sephiroth. Once I explain it all to you, you'll understand."

He snorted quietly and walked the last few feet to the copse that would serve as their shelter. "You can explain it to me later," he said, bending to set the smaller man carefully on the ground. "Right now, I want you to remain here while I gather tinder for the fire. Understood?"

"Hhhhmmmppphhh." Kuja tossed his wet hair and scooted back until his back touched one of the trees. "Go on, do your thing," he said, shooing the larger man away with a graceful hand. "I'm not going _anywhere_ until I'm good and warm!"

Sephiroth grunted and turned away, and Kuja barely refrained from rolling his eyes. His angel might be beautiful and powerful, but he had the manners of an oglop! Luckily, that had more to do with upbringing than with natural temperament, and could be changed with a little work. It was a challenge Kuja looked forward to.

He shivered and pulled the leather greatcoat more tightly around himself, leaning back against the tree as he strove to keep warm. His bright blue eyes never left Sephiroth as the other moved to the smallest of the trees, traveling over the lean, muscled length of his body with sensual appreciation.

The man truly was magnificent, Kuja thought with admiration. Tall, slender, and visually striking, his exotic, catlike green gleamed with intelligence. His angelic face was perfectly symmetrical, bearing not even the slightest flaw, from his straight patrician nose to his sensually-formed bow lips. Even that stunning waterfall of glossy silver satin that he called hair was perfect, arching high over his face in a striking manner, while spilling over his slender body in sublime accompaniment. Kuja already knew how it felt in hands, and he could well imagine the way it would feel on his _skin_. It would be like the finest silk, soft and strong and ever so sensual, and it would flow over them until they covered them both like a living blanket.

Kuja shivered as his body responded in a most enthusiastic way, and was chagrined to realize that his circulation had _more _than returned. His natural healing abilities were already compensating for the lack of warmth, and all it had taken was a few minutes in his angel's arms to accomplish it. He shouldn't be so surprised, he knew. Sephiroth had fabricated clothing out of thin air, which was a truly astonishing ability, even if the thin black mist that had materialized with it had been less than appealing. Kuja had to admit that he was surprised—and pleased—to realize just how powerful his angel really was. The man was nothing short of godlike, and Kuja knew that he truly _was _the man for him.

Of course, he still had to convince Sephiroth of that, but he wasn't too worried about _that_. He could see the attraction in his angel's eyes whenever he looked at him, the raw lust that always seemed to be mixed with that dry wit he possessed, and Kuja was experienced enough to know that he wasn't imagining it. Sephiroth wanted him—badly. It was simply up to Kuja to make him realize that it was all right to act on that desire.

As he'd told Sephiroth, the circumstances were less than ideal now, but they wouldn't always be so. As soon as they came across a proper inn or hostel, he was going to insist that they stop. He had plenty of gil in his purse, so there was no reason for them to freeze their asses off in the middle of a blizzard, thank you very much! He would pay for the room himself, and he would spend as much time as possible showing his angel _exactly _how much he appreciated him.

He still had to convince Sephiroth that he wasn't one of his. . .whatever the hell Sephiroth believed him to be, another obstacle that Kuja was confident he would overcome. The other man hadn't believed him when he told him he was from another world, but after discovering that his angel didn't remember their first meeting, he couldn't be _too _insulted. Whatever his angel's demon-bitch mother had done to him, it had obviously affected his memory, and it was up to Kuja to refresh it for him.

A faint whining sound, followed by a solid whack caught his attention, and Kuja realized that he had nearly dozed off while fantasizing about his new companion. He frowned and forced himself out of his slump, sitting upright and focusing his attention on the other man. His body _was _healing the damage done by the weather, but it hadn't fully recovered, and he couldn't afford to sleep until it had. He was _not _going to die out here in the middle of nowhere!

He watched as Sephiroth raised that impressively oversized katana of his, angled it to the left, and simply cut _through _the nearest tree. Another lay on the ground at his feet, and as Kuja snapped his shock-widened mouth closed, he had to admit that he was _stunned_. He'd known that his angel was powerful, but the man had just cut through a rather large tree in one uninterrupted slice, something that no man on Gaia—or Terra, for that matter—could have done. Gaia, but he was _more _than impressive, and Kuja couldn't wait for the day that he finally got him into bed, and all that strength was unleashed in other, more _pleasant _ways. It was going to make all of this unpleasantness seem trivial—and well worth it—in the end. Of that, he was certain.

It wasn't long before Sephiroth had cut the tree into a rather large cluster of wooden logs. The wood was still slightly damp—the Flare spell was powerful, but not perfect—but Kuja didn't doubt that his companion would have it roaring to life in short order. Sephiroth was revealing himself to be particularly efficient, and very well-versed in the "art" of camping outdoors. It was a skill that Kuja had never bothered to learn, simply because he hadn't _needed _to. He had been raised in a small but sophisticated village, and had spent more than half of his life traveling from one grand city to the next. What need had he for the great outdoors?

Well, that had come back to bite him in the ass, Kuja thought self-deprecatingly. Still, it was nice of Sephiroth to take care of him like this, especially since he _knew _that he was being a burden. He would make up to his angel later, of course, but he was only grateful that Sephiroth didn't seem to _mind _his little physical lapse. In fact, if Kuja wasn't mistaken, he seemed to have blamed _himself _for not stopping sooner.

Imagine that, Kuja thought with a smile. His strong, perfect angel, taking the blame for Kuja's own blunder. Sephiroth must like him to do something like _that _for him.

He watched as Sephiroth stacked the wood in an odd criss-cross pattern, until it resembled nothing less than a tiny log cabin. He wondered what the other man would use to actually light the blaze, and was surprised to hear that deep, velvety voice murmur a rhythmic cadence that any sorcerer worthy of the name would recognize. He himself had never actually needed to speak to cast magic, but he was the only being he had ever encountered with that extraordinary ability. Sephiroth, for all of his strength, power, and utter uniqueness, was actually very ordinary in that respect.

A green glow began to emanate around Sephiroth's right arm, and Kuja tensed with anticipation as the air around him became heavy, dense. He had always loved casting, the way the magic flowed through his veins as though apart of him, the exhilaration that washed over him when a spell reached its fruition. As the unmistakable taste of that magic drifted towards him on the roaring, icy wind, he shivered delicately and closed his eyes, and let the spell's power simply flow over him.

"Beautiful," he murmured breathlessly.

A low crackling sound came to him then, and Kuja opened his eyes to see a small orb of brilliant red-gold flames dancing in the other man's hand. An elemental Fire spell, and a low-level one, if he wasn't mistaken. Sephiroth lifted his hand and threw the fireball at the stacked wood, and the timber was instantly engulfed in flames.

Kuja waited until the fire was burning at a steady, predictable pace—after all, there was no reason to chance singing himself—and tried to rise. He cursed as Sephiroth's great coat—the _original _one—seemed to wrap itself around his legs, hampering his movements as it brought him crashing back down to the ground. He scowled darkly and reached down to untangle it, only to have his hands batted away by bigger, stronger ones. Those large hands with their long, graceful fingers slid under him, and he was lifted off the ground as though he weighed nothing.

Kuja pouted, embarrassed by his lack of coordination—he was normally the epitome of grace—as he was tucked against a strong, warm, leather-clad chest. "I'm not helpless, you know," he grumbled in protest, crossing his arms to make his displeasure known. "Your coat is too big for me, that's all."

"I never said that you were," Sephiroth returned, his voice taking on a dry cast as he added, "We are sharing body heat. Is this not what you wanted?"

Kuja harrumphed and looked pointedly away, and Sephiroth's deep voice boomed out in genuine laughter. "Don't stick that delicate little nose too high into the air, Kuja," he told him teasingly. "I would hate for it to freeze, again."

The younger man shot him a truly venomous look, his diamond-blue eyes flashing with ire, and Sephiroth couldn't suppress another laugh. "Don't worry, little monkey," he murmured humorously as he lowered them both to the ground. "You'll be warm soon enough."

Sephiroth settled the disgruntled young mage onto his lap before the fire, holding him in a tight, protective embrace. He waited until Kuja sighed and relaxed against him to speak again. "Don't go to sleep, yet," he told him firmly. "I still have a few questions I'd like answered."

"Hhhmmm." Kuja yawned hugely and forced his eyes open, shifting just enough to gaze sleepily into the fire. "Where would you like me to start, angel?"

"Start with your. . .world," Sephiroth answered quietly, determined to keep him awake until his body had recovered enough for him to sleep without dying. "You called it Terra?"

That gilded head with its two-toned feather tickled his cheek as Kuja nodded an affirmative. "I was born—created—in Garland's laboratory, in a small—but very sophisticated!—village named Bran Bel. I spent most of my life in my desert palace on Gaia, but that's a story for another day," he said dismissively. "What I know of Terra is what little I remember from the old man's rants, but I can give you the gist of it, I believe."

Kuja frowned delicately as he searched his memory, wishing that he'd paid more attention to the old man's lessons than he had. "The Terrans were a highly advanced civilization," he recited by rote, "well-versed in the art of magic, unparalleled in their use of its power. Until the planet began to decay, that is. The vegetation began to die out, and with their environment fading, so did the planet's animal life. The Terrans were desperate to preserve their culture, so they constructed the Oeilvert as a visual record of their history."

"But, of course, that wasn't enough," Kuja continued with a tired wave of his hand. "They had another plan, one that would save not on only the planet, but the Terrans themselves. Towards that goal, they chose the best and brightest of their scientific minds and sacrificed their souls to create the planet's savior: Garland."

His lips curled with disdain at the thought of crazy old Garland as _anybody's _savior, a gesture which didn't go unnoticed by the man who held him. "And this Garland was the scientist who created _you?" _Sephiroth prompted calmly.

"Yes," Kuja muttered absently, lost in memories that were best forgotten. The arms around him tightened, and he was grateful as the pressure brought back to the present. "Forgive me, angel. My memories of Garland are. . .less than pleasant, I'm afraid."

"I can imagine," Sephiroth murmured with sympathy. His own memories of a childhood spent in Hojo's care were nightmarish, at best. "Finish your tale, little monkey. I find it quite. . . intriguing."

Sephiroth was very careful to keep his voice neutral but welcoming, but Kuja detected his skepticism all the same. He had to remind himself that his angel didn't remember their first meeting, memories which would go a _long _way towards helping him right now. So, he would explain, as he had promised, and he would find a way to make Sephiroth believe him.

He shifted and slowly—reluctantly—slid out of his angel's lap. He turned his back to the fire, shivering slightly as he faced the man he had forsaken purgatory for. "The Terrans had a plan," he explained, his delicate, sensual features taking on an urgency that Sephiroth didn't understand. "They had perfected the magical art of Fusion, which would grant them—and the planet—eternal life, and they tried to use it to assimilate Gaia."

"Assimilate another planet?" Sephiroth asked, frowning fiercely at the very thought of it. "How is that possible? All living things must return to The Planet upon their deaths. Occasionally, there are exceptions," he grimaced here, for he was one of those exceptions, "but Fate has a way of setting things to right. Death is unavoidable, Kuja."

"Not for them," the sorcerer argued, "at least, not at first. Their civilization had done it before, in centuries past. But Fusion was only used as a last result, when Terra's Crystal grew weak and could no longer support the souls it had been created to recycle. They would seek out a newer, younger planet and assimilate it, and their souls would circulate through the new world's crystal to complete the process."

"Only this time, something went wrong." Kuja frowned to himself even as he shook his silver head. "I don't know what. It wasn't something Garland liked to talk about. All I know is that Fusion failed, and that's how Oeilvert ended up on Gaia instead of Terra, and _that _was a good five-thousand years before my time."

Sephiroth sent him a blatantly skeptical look at that. "Are you trying to tell me that this Garland was _five-thousand years old?"_

The young mage looked extraordinarily pleased as he nodded positively. "I told you he was a crazy old man, didn't I?" he questioned rhetorically. "It took him another two-thousand years to come up with a solution though, another way to gather the souls needed to restore Terra. War was the answer, you see. War would provide the souls that would feed Gaia's Crystal, but first he needed to find a way to create that war."

"He called them Genomes," Kuja said, a faint expression of disgust flitting across his face. "They were hollow constructs, created to house the souls of Garland's creators, humanoid in all ways but _one."_

He grimaced again, and Sephiroth wondered what that one difference was, to cause such revulsion in a seemingly tolerant man. "There were thousands of them, angel, mindless puppets all. There were uniform beings, born without souls, empty vessels created to hold the souls of others. Then, he made _me."_

Kuja smiled arrogantly and leaned forward, setting delicate, violet-tipped hands on Sephiroth's knees. "I was the first Genome with his own mind, his own _will," _he stated with pride. "I was his Angel of Death, his reaper of souls, a being of unparalleled beauty and power."

Sephiroth was disturbed by the parallels between Kuja's tale and his own, but even more so by the sudden darkness which flashed through those diamond-bright eyes. "I served him loyally, from the day I was awakened, and he had the _nerve _to create another to replace me."

"To replace _me," _Kuja repeated in a hiss, the memory of it enough to incense him even now. "I was too powerful, he said, too unpredictable to be a proper Angel of Death. Once Zidane came of age, I was expected to sacrifice the soul that _I'd_ been given so that _he _would flourish. I was to be shunted aside, like so much _trash, _after all I had done for him?"

Sephiroth winced inwardly and reached down to pull the outraged young man back into his arms. Kuja went to him willingly, curling up against him with a shudder, and Sephiroth held him as close as he dared. He didn't know how much of Kuja's tale he actually believed, but he couldn't deny the angry hurt that had darkened the pale blue skies of the younger man's eyes. And while he hadn't known Kuja long, their brief association was enough that he could imagine how badly Garland's betrayal had hurt him. It had been the same for him, when Hojo had casually—vindictively—informed him that _he _was his father, and that his birth had stolen his mother's life. He had been devastated, and it was obvious that Kuja had been, as well.

He ran a hand over the moon-bright fall of the younger man's hair, and was relieved when delicate hands crept up the front of his jacket to wind around his neck in return. "There is nothing worse than an unappreciative parent," he told him in a deep, quiet voice. "The lack lies not with you, Kuja, but with _him _for his inability to appreciate you."

"You think I don't know that?" Kuja's voice, normally so fluid and melodic, rose up shrilly. He tried to pull away, only to find himself trapped by strong, inescapable arms. "Don't you _dare _feel sorry for me! I am no hothouse flower that wilts at the first signs of harsh weather. I am a destroyer of worlds, an Angel of Death. I need no man's pity, especially not _yours."_

The rapid shift in mood was not entirely unexpected, and once again, it echoed another time, and the behavior of another mercurial man. "Touchy little thing, aren't you?" Sephiroth muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, Kuja heard him, which became obvious as he made an inarticulate sound of outrage and began to struggle in earnest. Sephiroth merely sighed and shifted his hold, wrapping arms more firmly about the squirming young man. "Kuja, enough!" he growled with exasperation. "I meant no disrespect. I know what it is like to be scorned by a parent. I was merely trying to convey my empathy for what you have been through. Nothing more."

The lithe young man stilled against him, and Sephiroth knew that he was considering his words, likely replaying them in his mind as he searched for any hints of dishonesty. Much like the man he reminded Sephiroth so strongly of, Kuja wasn't one to take _anything_ at face value. Genesis' distrust had stemmed from deep insecurities, formed during an unhappy childhood, and Sephiroth was quickly coming to suspect that Kuja was the same. So, he would do as he had in the past, and offer a piece of himself that would convince the other man of his sincerity. Perhaps, it would ease a portion of his pain, as well.

"When I was eight years old, I worked up the courage to ask Hojo about my parents," he said in a voice so low that it was nearly inaudible. "His response was. . .disappointing."

Images flashed through Sephiroth's mind, crystal-clear in their clarity, the gift—or curse—of having an eidetic memory. Hojo standing over him, the harsh overhead lights reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses, obscuring the dark eyes that Sephiroth had _known _were narrowed with scorn. He didn't like it when Sephiroth asked questions, especially those of a personal nature, and his response had been equally scornful.

"_Your mother's name was Jenova. She's dead. She died giving birth to __**you**__."_

_"And my father?"_

_ "Why __**me, **__of course. Why so disappointed, Sephiroth? You didn't really think that you had parents out there in the word __**searching **__for you, did you?_"

Kuja gazed up at him in an agony of suspense, breathless as he waited for Sephiroth to continue, his natural curiosity more than piqued by what he'd already suspected was a similar childhood—if one could call his own formative years that. Those beautiful, angelic features were drawn, that shimmering emerald gaze turned inward as he focused on something only he could see, and Kuja's heart went out to him. He lifted a hand to Sephiroth's face and very gently trailed his fingertips over the other man's cheek. Those catlike eyes sharpened as he came back to himself, focusing on Kuja with an intensity that had his heart pounding in his chest.

"Don't think about it," Kuja told him in a soft, albeit unsteady, voice. "As you said, the lack lies not with us, but with our fathers' inability to appreciate us. We are more than the marionettes they tried to make of us. We are powerful men, angel, men who control our own destinies. Their opinions are of _no_ consequence."

Sephiroth's eyes flickered indecipherably even as one corner of his mouth inched up in a small, nearly non-existent smile. "And here I was hoping to comfort _you," _he murmured in a quietly humorous voice.

"Which you did quite well," Kuja assured him, smiling brightly as he combed his fingers through the silvery fall of his angel's hair. " And while I _do _ tend to carry on at times, calling me a 'touchy little thing' was completely unnecessary. Might I assume that an apology is coming forthwith?"

The smile deepened until was little more than an amused smirk. "My apologies," mako-green eyes glinted down at him, "little monkey."

Kuja harrumphed, but the sound was ruined as his own amusement spilled over. "Oh, I _do _like you, angel," he said laughingly. "There is something very refreshing about your lack of decorum, oglops aside."

Sephiroth uttered a chuckle of his own, squeezing the other man lightly, even as he wondered what the hell an oglop was. "Decorum is the least of my concerns, at the moment." He eased Kuja off of his lap, ignoring the younger man's indignant, "What the hell was that for?" and rose to his feet. "I'll find us something to eat. Why don't you lie down and try to rest while I'm gone. Your body temperature has risen enough that you shouldn't be at risk at any longer."

Kuja merely stretched his legs out and leaned back on his arms, throwing his head back to gazed up at him with heavy sensuality. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather skip dinner and go straight to the final act?" he inquired provocatively.

Sephiroth lifted one silver brow in an unbearably regal manner, even as his glowing green gaze slid down the length of Kuja's lithely-muscled body. The black trench coat—_his _coat, he thought possessively—had fallen open, revealing the bottom half of that supple, gently-rounded body. It also revealed that Kuja's clothes were still very wet, and likely very cold, and reminded him that they were still stuck in the middle of a raging blizzard. Not the ideal setting for an intimate encounter.

"Survival first," he told the other man wryly. "Once we have assured that, we can speak of. . .other things."

Wide, sensuous lips formed a moue of disappointment as Kuja casually reached down and closed the coat. "I'll hold you to that, you know," he warned waspishly.

Sephiroth merely shook his head, more than amused by the other man's antics. "Of that, I have no doubt, Kuja. Now," he extended his left hand and called Masamune, "rest. I will return shortly."

Kuja watched with fascination as that lovely, enormous katana materialized in his angel's hand. Its seven-foot-blade gleamed brightly, even under the storm-darkened sky, reflecting not the wind-driven snow but shining with its own inner light. It was beautiful, unique, much like the man who wielded it, and as Sephiroth turned away, Kuja could only sigh with appreciation.

He waited until his angel had disappeared from sight—a stunning view, even if that long coat _did _conceal too much of it—and turned onto his side. He stretched out before the fire, pillowing his head on his arm, and closed his eyes. He himself drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that he would be safe, so long as his angel was nearby to watch over him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Plot Synopsis: **SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =)

**Author's Note: **Finally finished. Woo-hooo! I've been jumping back and forth between stories, trying to do a little to each, and getting nowhere fast. I finally settled down with Sephiroth and Kuja—and isn't _that _a great fantasy!—and this is the result. No smut, sadly, but it's too soon in the plot for it. I hope you enjoy it, anyway =).

* * *

**Final Fantasy: Final Requiem**

Chapter Six

Sephiroth gazed at the dancing creature before him with something akin to disdain. Shortly after leaving the campsite, the eerie sensation of being observed had come over him. He'd searched carefully for his unseen pursuer, but to no avail. It had neither attacked nor approached, seemingly content to merely follow his progress. In the end, he'd decided to allow it, confident in his belief that the wild lands of the Northern Continent held nothing he could not handle. Still, he would like to know just who—or what—was stalking him, and it galled him that he didn't. Had eight years of imprisonment truly dulled his senses _that _greatly?

And, now _this, _Sephiroth thought with a snort. The Jumping—a ridiculous, if somewhat apt, name—hopped to and fro before him, its long ears flopping with every swift movement, its clawed hands slashing at the air before it. He sighed and glanced down at Masamune, hating the thought of using such a deadly, honorable weapon on such an inconsequential foe. He didn't even know if the rabbit-like creature would be safe for Kuja to consume, as its body would be saturated with mako, and he_ claimed_ to be from another world. But as Sephiroth had yet to come across any other suitable prey, he decided that it would simply have to do. Besides, he'd always had a fondness for rabbit.

Sephiroth smirked to himself, lifted Masamune, and flicked his wrist once. The immense katana whistled through the brisk night air, slicing through fur and muscle and bone with astonishing ease. The Jumping's head tumbled through the air before landing on the snow-covered ground with a faint thump, while its body simply crumpled where it stood—or hopped, as it were.

Sephiroth chuckled darkly as he moved towards the dead creature, ignoring the stench of blood and mako as he knelt down before it. He made quick work of the Jumping, draining the body of blood and viscera as he prepared it for the fire. He and Kuja would eat well tonight, if nothing else. He would worry about tomorrow when it came.

Once done, he meticulously cleaned his gloves in the snow, careful to remove even the slightest speck of blood from the smooth material. He grasped the carcass by its legs and stood, flicking the blood from Masamune's length with a sharp movement, and turned back the way he had come.

He caught only a glimpse of the creature in his peripheral vision, a flash of deep crimson and beyond-pale skin, but it was enough. Sephiroth tightened his hold on supper and burst into action, his boots barely touching the snow-covered ground as he broke into a run. It _hadn't _been the Jumping that he had sensed in the darkness, nor any other common creature. It had been a man, or something that resembled one, and it was heading straight towards the camp—towards _Kuja._

Sephiroth swore under his breath and increased his speed, narrowing his eyes to lessen the icy sting of the wind-driven snow, determined to reach his sleeping companion before this unknown threat did. Whether Kuja was truly a being from another world—and he still had his doubts about _that—_or merely another of his incarnations, he was Sephiroth's responsibility. Sephiroth had known it from the moment he'd awakened to find the beautiful young man holding him so protectively, the knowledge an ephemeral, wholly instinctive thing that he didn't understand, but could not deny. Kuja was _his, _and he would allow no harm to come to him.

A swirl of red was Sephiroth's only warning before the humanoid creature he followed began to change. Gone was the pale, nearly luminescent skin that Sephiroth had glimpsed so briefly. In its place was a rippling pool of deep crimson, one that defied gravity as it twirled and spun and wove its way through rough, boulder-dotted landscape. Sephiroth knew that his eyes were wide as he watched the startling phenomenon, but he had never before in his life seen anything like it. This was no mere monster, a creature mutated by exposure to The Planet's life-blood, nor was it a man in any acceptable sense of the word. This was something else, something _other, _and it was outdistancing him with a speed that even he wouldn't have believed possible.

He thought again of Kuja, curled up so vulnerably before the fire, and knew that he had to do _something. _If he could not catch this creature by normal means—and he was beginning to doubt his ability to do so—then he would do so by _abnormal _ ones. Anything, so long as it kept Kuja safe and out of death's grasp.

Sephiroth watched the flowing red marvel closely, studying its movements closely until he could discern a pattern in them. All living things had patterns, whether they were aware of it or not, and this creature was no different. All too soon, its random, seemingly chaotic movements revealed that pattern, and Sephiroth swiftly moved to counteract it.

He quickly calculated the distance between them, using the creature's pattern to predict the path it would take, and simply teleported to the spot. He materialized ahead of the monster and swiftly turned to meet it, Masamune gleaming malevolently in the moonlight as he raised it before him, placing the seven-foot blade between the unknown threat and himself. The great crimson mass halted abruptly, hovering in the air nearly ten feet away, before it began to change yet again.

Sephiroth watched with hidden fascination as the creature coalesced before him, transforming from a rippling mass of unidentifiable crimson to a slender, dark-clad human man. A tattered red cloak floated around his slim form, which was covered from throat to feet in thick black leather. His face was a pale splash of moonlit skin set against a tangled backdrop of long midnight hair, while shining crimson eyes stared out from beneath a fringe of surprisingly long sable lashes. Their deep red color was startling, as was their glowing luminescence, an unmistakable sign of prolonged exposure to mako.

Something stirred in Sephiroth's mind as he gazed into those intense, unusually-shaded eyes. The flash of gunfire, the smoking muzzle of a gun as it was lowered, and then it was gone, hidden by the haze that accompanied most of Sephiroth's memories of _that _time in his life. "Who are you?" he demanded, angling Masamune so that its curved edge served as a razor-sharp barrier between them. "Why do you follow me?"

Something glimmered in those unusual ruby orbs, a flicker of some vague, unidentifiable emotion, and then it was gone. Their luminous surfaces became opaque once again, empty of any trace of emotion, cold and remote and unreadable. His tattered red cloaked flared around him as though it had a life of its own, wrapping around his slim form, obscuring it as he once again changed shape.

The shimmering crimson mass hung suspended in the air before him, no hint of the man he had so briefly confronted in its indistinct form. It shot away suddenly, darting through the cold night sky, until it disappeared into the turbulence of the winter storm.

Sephiroth frowned after him, slowly lowering Masamune as he considered giving chase. That brief, fleeting flicker of memory was enough to make him hesitate. His memories of his life after the debacle in Nibelheim, of his actions while under Jenova's malevolent control, were vague and unfocused. He hadn't seen much from his underground prison as Mother made her bid for The Planet, surrounded by naught more than mako and darkness, but what he _had _witnessed was enough to both shame and enrage him.

No, he decided at length, there was no need to go after the man. He could no longer sense the stranger's presence, and he had fled in the opposite direction of the camp. Kuja was in no longer in danger, but he might become so if Sephiroth were to leave him alone in the wilderness for too long.

He glanced down at the Jumping, still hanging upside-down from his right hand, and turned back towards camp. As much as he longed to go after the stranger and force him to answer his questions, he was not sure that he was prepared to _hear _the truth. The less he knew about that time in his life—or his afterlife, rather—the better.

Sephiroth arrived at the camp to find Kuja lying in the same position in which he had left him. The younger man was curled up on his right side, his head pillowed on his left arm, his right hand curled loosely under his chin. Damp silver locks curled wildly around his head and shoulders, partially obscuring his lovely, unusual features. Luckily, the fire seemed to be doing its job, as was evident by the wayward wisps of rapidly drying hair that fluttered and streamed in the storm's brisk winds. That single violet feather with its streaks of silvery down waved in an almost defiant accompaniment, as though defying the power of the storm, and Sephiroth found himself chuckling as he strode forward.

"Little monkey," he murmured to his sleeping companion, his deep voice laced with that inexplicable affection which had baffled him from the beginning. He knelt beside the young mage, setting the Jumping aside in an absent gesture, thoroughly captivated by his unusual companion. He still didn't understand why he felt this abnormally strong fascination with Kuja, but he had to admit that while he found the sensation unsettling, it was _not_ an unpleasant one.

Far from it, Sephiroth thought with a self-deprecating smile. He reached out and slowly, gently, swept deep platinum locks away from the other man's face. He trailed gloved fingertips over the swell of one delicately arched brow, pausing to brush the startlingly long fringe of his deep silver lashes. He traced the curve of one high, broad cheekbone, his hand turning to cradle the gracefully stubborn line of his jaw, even as it slid ever closer to the full, sensuous mouth beneath.

Acid-green eyes narrowed, flaring brightly with a combination of lust and mako, and Sephiroth found himself hesitating. He might not understand his sudden fascination with Kuja Tribal, but he understood what it could _lead_ to, were he foolish enough to allow it. It had happened once before, the strength of his will overridden by the force of his emotions, and it had led to his ruin. And yet, that knowledge meant absolutely nothing to his baser instincts, which were screaming at him to take what was his and _damn_ the consequences.

He had to forcibly remind himself that he had been down this road before, and that it had only led to his damnation. Regardless of what his body wanted—and it _wanted _with an intensity that he had never felt before—he could not allow their relationship to progress any further. Simple flirtation, he could handle. A full-blown obsession, he could _not._

Even as he thought this, his hand moved of its own accord, his thumb sweeping down to glide gently across the blush-kissed skin of Kuja's bottom lip. The other man slept on, oblivious, as his thumb moved up to softly trace the full curve of his upper lip. Sephiroth commanded himself to stop, to pull his and away and to cease this madness, but to no avail. A part of himself he had thought dead was roaring to life, and he had as little control over now as he _then._

His free hand moved to cup the other side of Kuja's face, slowly—inexorably—angling the other man's face towards his own. He leaned down towards him, his glowing green gaze never leaving those perfect lips, his desire so great that it was all he could do just to keep his touch gentle. He could feel the heat of the younger man's breath as it washed over his lips, and he had to bite his own to suppress a groan sheer, unadulterated lust.

Unwittingly, it was Kuja himself who brought Sephiroth back from the brink of sensual madness. The younger man stirred beneath his touch, a breathless sound escaping those lush lips, as he rolled over on to his back. Sephiroth snatched his hands away, dropped them into his lap, and watched the sleeping man warily. His body screamed at him in protest, tightening nearly to the point of pain, while the rest of him was _damned _grateful. He was both embarrassed and troubled by his lack of control, and he could only be relieved that his newly awakened desires hadn't overcome him completely.

He would have to be _very _careful of how he handled Kuja Tribal in the future, Sephiroth thought tensely. The other man looked young and guileless in slumber, innocent in a way that defied what little Sephiroth knew of him. Kuja claimed to be an angel of death, and after witnessing him cast that high-level Flare spell from nothing more than his own innate power, Sephiroth believed him. And yet, it was not death that came to mind as Sephiroth watched him sleep, but rather life—full, passionate life.

Kuja slept on, oblivious to his thoughts, and Sephiroth forced his worries to the back of his mind. Despite his overly familiar demeanor, Kuja truly did not know him. The young mage could not possibly comprehend the threat he represented to one whose passions had once drove him down the dark road of insanity. No, this problem was Sephiroth's, and Sephiroth's alone. He would find a way to deal with both his confounding emotions and his body's needs

Keeping that thought firmly in the forefront of his mind, Sephiroth turned his attention to the more mundane task of preparing their meal. If Kuja's innate healing ability was anything like his own, he would wake in a few hours, and he likely would be ravenous. Sephiroth wanted to have the food ready for him when he did. Kuja was his responsibility, and he would take care of him, to the best of his ability.

* * *

Kuja awoke to the mouth-watering scent of roasting meat. He moaned appreciatively and pushed himself into a sitting position, peering through an untamed tumble of violet-tipped silver hair. Sephiroth sat crossed-legged before the fire, a long stick in one graceful hand, five others supporting the source of the utterly delicious smell that hung over it. Kuja dragged his gaze upwards, only to be caught and held by luminous, cat-like silver-green eyes.

He shivered delicately beneath the heat of that glowing, exotic gaze, his own eyes widening as he realized how horrible he must look at that moment. He hastily reached up to make himself presentable, pushing his hair back from his face and running his hands through it, hoping to tame the heavy mane into something resembling order. A low laugh stopped his self-ministrations, and he scowled as he realized that the laughter was aimed at _him._

"It's not funny!" he snapped, his embarrassment making him irritable. He couldn't look _that _bad, damn it! "I know that I must look a fright, angel, but laughing at me is _un_called for!"

Sephiroth forced himself to stop laughing, but he couldn't quite hide the tiny, crooked smile which replaced it. "You do not look a fright, Kuja. You are merely," _beautifully, perfectly, adorably, _"disheveled."

Kuja harrumphed and tossed his hair, unconvinced, and pointedly looked away. He heard a smothered sound that sounded suspiciously like more laughter—muffled this time, thankfully—before his stomach rumbled warningly. He looked down at his abdomen and scowled, both hands coming up to cover it defensively. "What are you cooking there?" he threw out, his voice sharp as he began to slowly, grudgingly, scoot closer.

Sephiroth thought of all the answers he could give, the explanations about the way mako had mutated a normal cottontail into the being now spitted over the flames, and then thought better of it. "Rabbit," he replied simply. "It should be done soon."

"Oh, good!" Kuja said with a very real relief. "I'm famished!"

Sephiroth slid him a sidelong glance, hoping that his amusement wasn't _too _obvious as he watched the young man approach in what he probably believed was a stealthy manner. "I thought you might be," was all he said in return, his tone bland as he purposely turned back to the fire.

He waited as the other man came to rest at his side, not the least bit surprised when that thin, lithe body leaned into his own as though it had every right to be there. Shy, his little monkey would never be, he thought with a mental grin. Instead of speaking _that _thought aloud and possibly starting what he didn't doubt would be another intimate conversation he could not finish, he merely shifted the spit to his right hand and lifted his left. Kuja squirmed even closer, ducking under his arm and all but melding himself to his side, and Sephiroth was hard pressed to suppress yet another bout of laughter. No, Kuja was _far _from shy.

He lowered his arm and encircled those slim shoulders, keeping the smaller man close to him in a loose grip. "How are you feeling?" he asked at length, doing his best _not _to think about the lightly-muscled body resting so heavily against his own. "No burning sensation in your extremities, no lingering numbness?"

Kuja shook his head even as he wound his arms around Sephiroth's waist. "Except for the fact that I'm hungry, cold, and probably look atrocious, I'm perfectly fine," he muttered in a disgruntled voice.

Sephiroth cast an exasperated look at the crown of his silver head, but didn't comment, choosing instead to discuss the stranger he had met so briefly earlier in the night. "When I was hunting, I came across a man," he began, hesitating as he realized that, whoever the stranger had been, he wasn't completely human. "Or, what I thought was a man," he amended quietly. "He never spoke, but when we met he. . .changed."

Kuja shook his hair out of his face and angled his head back to look up at him. "Changed, how?" he asked curiously.

"He appeared to change _forms," _Sephiroth answered haltingly. "I believe that the proper term to describe what I saw would be 'shape-shifter'."

"A shape-shifter, hmm?" Kuja yawned, raising one delicate hand to cover his mouth, supremely unconcerned. While such beings weren't common, he had fought several on Gaia who were capable of altering their physical forms. While they were different, and their abilities varied, they hadn't been powerful enough to defeat _him._ "Interesting, angel, but I'm sure it's nothing that _we _can't handle."

"Probably not," Sephiroth agreed, fully conscious of his own arrogance as it was reflected in the other man's voice, "but I wanted you to be aware, just in case it—he—returned. I didn't want you to be unaware of the danger."

"And now, I'm not," Kuja returned matter-of-factly, twisting in his arms and lifting a hand to pat his cheek patronizingly. "Thanks, for the concern. It's touching, angel, really."

Sephiroth frowned down at him, not liking the condescending treatment, only to receive another gentle pat before the younger man withdrew. Settling against him once more, Kuja yawned a third time and simply slumped against him. "Gaia, but you make a good pillow," he murmured, rubbing his cheek over the smooth leather covering Sephiroth's chest. "We'll have to try this again sometime, preferably from a prone position. It's easier to. . .sleep that way."

Sephiroth found himself fighting yet another smile—he _never _smiled—at the innuendo lacing those deceptively innocuous words. "You're taking an awful lot for granted," he commented dryly.

Kuja sent him a coy look from beneath half-closed lids. "Oh, am I?" the younger man questioned innocently, and Sephiroth couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, you most certainly are," he said laughingly, squeezing his shoulders in both affection and warning. Kuja merely blinked with that same false innocence, and he shook his head in fond exasperation. "We barely know each other, Kuja. Don't you think we should take the time to get properly acquainted before we rush headlong into. . .intimacy?"

"Oh, I already know _all _that I need to know about _you," _Kuja drawled playfully, trailing one violet-tipped finger down the center of his chest. "If you remembered our first meeting, you'd know that."

That slender digit skipped teasingly over the top of his weapon's belt, and Sephiroth hastily grabbed it before it could go any further. "I've already told you that I have no memory of our meeting prior to awakening in the crater," he reminded him, his voice little more than a husky rasp as he added, "Perhaps, it is time that _you _ enlightened me."

Kuja uttered a deep, not entirely dramatic sigh at the request. "It's a very long story, angel," he said, utterly serious now. "Are you sure you want to hear it, now?

Sephiroth met those suddenly solemn diamond-blue eyes and nodded slowly. "Tell me what it is that makes you so certain about," he almost said "us", but changed his mind at the last moment, "me?"

The younger man sighed again and shifted just enough to meet his gaze more comfortably. "When you first came to me, I was trapped in the Iifa Tree. I'd been imprisoned there, you see, as a punishment for my. . ." those diamond-bright eyes slid away from his, "hubris, I guess you could say."

"Hubris," Sephiroth repeated in a murmur, wondering if that meant what he thought it did. "Go on."

"It's my own fault," Kuja began, lifting one hand to play with his hair self-consciously. "When Garland first announced his intention to replace me with Zidane, I did _not _take it well. Oh, I fussed and fumed and threatened to kill the old coot if he didn't change his mind, but nothing I said made a damned bit of difference. Zidane would supplant me when he came of age, and that was that."

Kuja paused, curling a lock of hair around his finger as he remembered the day that changed his life forever. "I lacked empathy," he said with a shrug. "I was powerful, more powerful than Garland, his ancestors, and any being on Gaia combined, but that was not enough. Because I had been created as you see me now, I never experienced a true childhood, and the old man felt that it had hampered my emotional development."

Sephiroth barely contained a sneer at that. Hojo had believed just the opposite, that his emotional development was unimportant in the face of his obvious physical superiority. After all, what god had need of such a _human _failing?

He realized that Kuja had stopped speaking and quickly focused on him once more. "Don't stop," he encouraged in a quiet voice. "I want to hear it all."

Kuja eyed him sulkily, disliking that he lost the other man's attention—even for an instant—and then let it go. His angel had his own issues with the man who had raised him, and if their earlier conversation on the subjects of disinterested fathers was any indication, this was likely triggering his own unpleasant memories. In light of that, Kuja could afford to be generous.

"As I was saying," he couldn't help the pointed look that reminded Sephiroth that they were talking about _him _just now, "Garland believed that I was emotionally deficient, and therefore unworthy as an Angel of Death. But as Zidane had been created as a child, it would take time for him to mature into a full-grown Genome, time that _I _intended to use to prove my own worth."

"It didn't work, of course," Kuja said with a shake of his head of his gilded head. "Nothing I said or did was enough to convince Garland that he truly needed me. Zidane was to be my successor, and that was to be the end of it. I would be stripped of my soul, of my very individuality, and turned into a mindless puppet like all the others."

His sensually beautiful features hardened, and his pale blue eyes flashed brilliantly as he thought of it. "Zidane was barely a year old when I finally had enough of the old man's gloating. I didn't trust the crazy old bastard not to find a way to accelerate Zidane's growth, if only to spite me by replacing me that much sooner."

"But _I _outsmarted he and Zidane both," he proclaimed, pressing one fisted hand to his chest proudly. "I took Zidane away from Bran Bel—away from _Garland—_and took him to an orphanage on Gaia. I left him there, knowing that Garland would never be able to find him, and that I would finally be safe."

Sephiroth felt a pang of sympathy and squeezed the hand still clasped in his own. Kuja sent him a decidedly crooked smile and returned the pressure, leaning forward to lay his head on his shoulder once again. "I spared Zidane because I knew that it wasn't his fault," he murmured. "He was a pawn, just as I was. He had no control over his fate, and as ruthless as I undoubtedly was, even I couldn't countenance taking my brother's life."

Sephiroth released his hand to pull him closer, stroking his leather-clad back comfortingly, and the young mage uttered a weary sigh. "Fifteen years later, my benevolence came back to bite me in the ass. I had become a weapons dealer, you see," he elucidated in a flat voice. "My job as Angel of Death was to incite war, and what better way than to go to the least powerful country on the planet and offer my 'services'?"

Kuja laughed then, but it was a harsh, shrill sound, devoid of humor. "I went to the kingdom of Alexandria and ingratiated myself with Queen Brahne." He shuddered with very real revulsion at the memory of the fat, blue-skinned woman he had spent so long deceiving. "She was a truly hideous sight to behold, but she was _very _ ambitious. Her husband had kept her greed in check while he lived, but once he was gone, that all changed. She wanted more land, more wealth, more _power."_

"Which _you _provided," Sephiroth guessed correctly.

"Of course," he replied mockingly, "or rather, I provided the means for her acquire them. I took my army of little mass-produced Black Mages and sold them to her. She used them to destroyed Burmecia, leveled their odd little country to the ground, but that wasn't enough for _her," _he all but spat, his disgust more than clear. "The bitch wanted it all—Burmecia, Lindblum, Cleyra. . . _all _of it."

"On my advice," Kuja grimaced here, because he wasn't proud of all he'd urged The Elephant Lady do, "Brahne took the army to Cleyra to hunt down the survivors. She even tortured her own daughter to extract her Eidolon from her, so that she would have the power to completely annihilate her enemies, the poor little canary."

Sephiroth blinked at that, wondering what an extinct bird had to do with any of this. In the end, he decided against asking, settling for what he considered to be a more important line of inquiry. "What is an Eidolon?"

It was Kuja's turn to blink at the totally unexpected question. How could he not know? he asked himself incredulously. Just how different _was _this world?

"An Eidolon is an incredibly powerful being, one born from Gaia's Crystal for the sole purpose of protecting the planet," he explained as simply as he could. "Normally, only a summoner of the Madain Sari tribe can use one, as they are given their summons' gem at birth. It merges with its summoner, becoming a part of him or her, so it's useless to anyone else. I, however, found a way around _that _little problem. You only needed the gem from which the Eidolon originated, and it could be forcefully extracted from its summoner."

Sephiroth frowned at that. He was beginning to share Kuja's antipathy for this unknown queen. "And Brahne did this to her own daughter?" he said, knowing the answer even as he asked the question.

"Oh yes, with a smile on her lips and a skip to her step," Kuja answered harshly. "I'd been looking for a way to obtain my own Eidolon for years, but this was the woman's _daughter, _angel. I never expected her to go through with it. I honestly believed that, when it came time to act, I would be the one forced to do it. But, The Elephant Lady surprised even me. Garnet was a lovely girl, beautiful, strong, and kind-hearted, and that bitch just. . .tore her spirit apart to increase her own power."

Sephiroth studied him for a long moment, taking in the downward curve of his normally smiling lips, the shadows in those diamond-bright eyes, and learned something important about Kuja in the process. "You cared for her," he stated with both surprise and unease. "You cared for this girl, and yet you were willing to torture her yourself, if it furthered your own ends."

Lines of stress bracketed that sensual mouth even as Kuja nodded in affirmation. "I was a different man then, angel. I would have done _anything _to free myself from Garland, and I believed that I needed an Eidolon if I was ever going to succeed." He shivered and burrowed closer, seeking comfort in the face of his own past perfidy. "I can't say that I loved her, but I _wanted _her—badly—and still, I would've have hurt her to get what I wanted. I can only thank Gaia that I've changed," he added fervently. "If my death taught me nothing else, it taught me how I _should _have lived, and I have every intention of heeding that lesson _now_."

He raised his head slowly, his pale blue eyes slamming into Sephiroth's own, and Sephiroth felt the impact all the way own to his blackened soul. "You needn't worry that I will betray you, angel." A slender hand rose and cupped Sephiroth's face with a reverence that he would never have expected. "I will _never _be that man, again."

"Kuja. . ." Sephiroth could only gaze at him in silence, suddenly hating the parallels between his lovely new companion, and the man who had once destroyed him. Genesis had been much the same, utterly ruthless when it came to dealing with those he loved, willing to hurt them—to _break _them—so long as he got what he wanted. Sephiroth thought of his earlier fears and was suddenly unsure if he wanted this—whatever it was forming between them—to continue. He had been broken once before, and it was an experience he'd sworn never to repeat.

Still, no matter how much of a resemblance Sephiroth saw, Kuja was _not _Genesis. He had admitted his past mistakes, taking the full blame for them on his own slender shoulders, and had asked for nothing in return. He was giving Sephiroth the rare gift of honesty, and Sephiroth refused to throw it back in his face, no matter how much his truth troubled him.

"What does this have to do with _our _first meeting?" he questioned at length, careful to keep his both his voice and his expression from reflecting his newfound doubts. It would only hurt Kuja to discover their existence, and they truly hadn't known one another long enough to discern the other's true nature. Kuja said that he had changed, and so far, his behavior had confirmed his words. He would not insult the other man by withdrawing from him now.

Kuja smiled gently, gratefully, and stroked his cheek with his thumb before drawing away. "It has _everything _to do with it," he said simply, his smile fading as quickly as it had formed. He was _not _looking forward to telling the rest of his tale, and he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

He shifted to stare into the fire, his pale blue eyes locked on the dancing flames. "After destroying Cleyra and Lindblum, Brahne turned on me." He shook his head at the memory of the bitch's unparalleled stupidity. "She showed up at Iifa with her fleet of warships—it was quite an impressive sight, I must admit—and declared that she no longer needed me."

"She attacked you?" Sephiroth guessed, and Kuja's answer was small, humorless laugh which was an answer in itself. The smaller man leaned back against him, and Sephiroth didn't even attempt to fight the impulse that sent his own arms banding around him. "Not very smart of her, I take it?"

Kuja snorted, somehow making the inelegant noise _sound _elegant, and slid his arms around Sephiroth's own. "She summoned Bahamut, thinking it would be enough to destroy me. She was wrong, of course," he said with a shrug of his slender shoulders. "Apparently, she hadn't realized that I am nearly invulnerable. I'm not saying it didn't hurt—I mean, the bitch drew _blood—_but her little Eidolon wasn't powerful enough to actually _harm _me."

He lifted one deceptively delicate hand and touched the spot at his hairline where Bahamut's power had marked him. You couldn't see it now, but it had left a nasty scar on his forehead for at least an hour after the attack. At least, he hadn't been permanently disfigured. He might have destroyed morethan just Terra had _that _happened.

Kuja shook his gilded head and let his hand drop back into his lap. "I have an affinity for dragons, you see," he continued, reaching up to caress the leather-clad arms beneath his. "And even if I hadn't, I had the Invincible. Brahne didn't stand a chance, and she was too stupid to realize it."

Sephiroth gazed down at the top of his burnished head, at the silver-and-violet feather that swayed like a living thing in the brisk artic wind, and shook his own head. "What is the Invincible?" he asked at last, unable to deny his curiosity as Kuja wove his fantastic—and somewhat tragic—tale.

"It was the old man's airship," Kuja replied, frowning faintly as he wondered exactly how to explain just _what _ what the Invisible was. "It was built as a battleship, but also as a repository of souls. It housed the essences of the Terrans who had entrusted Terra's future to Garland, but it also. . .well. . ._absorbed _the souls of those it killed—and those that _I _killed—through The Eye."

One silver eyebrow shot up in an expression of blatant skepticism, and Sephiroth was grateful that the younger man couldn't see him. "The Eye?" he repeated encouragingly, wondering once again exactly what this had to do with a meeting he didn't remember, and if he could truly believe the tale that his alluring young companion was weaving.

Kuja nodded forcefully. "The Invisible was more than just metal and electronic parts. It was biomechanical. It had _living _ parts," he explained, twisting just enough to meet the other man's catlike gaze, "and The Eye was one of them. Not only could it release a _highly _damaging laser beam, but it also worked as a conduit for the souls trapped aboard."

"A conduit," Sephiroth murmured, half to himself, as began to piece the next part of the tale together himself. "A conduit, I assume, that _you _were able to use in some way?"

"Oh, yes," the young mage answered with relish, and Sephiroth caught the faintest glimpse of the man he had once been as he smiled smugly. "The souls trapped in the Invincible were bitter, angel. Most had been dead for a long time, and were disappointed by Garland's lack of progress. The newer ones, the more recent dead, hadn't yet accepted their fate, and they were _angry. _Not that I blame them," he added in a more philosophical tone. "Death wasn't something that I enjoyed, either."

Sephiroth felt a pang of impatience and quickly tamped it down, schooling his features to reveal only mild curiosity. Genesis had also had a tendency to ramble, to weave long, unnecessarily intricate tales, and rushing him had only resulted in arguments that Sephiroth had never won. He didn't doubt that Kuja—as sensitive as he'd already shown himself to be—would react in a similar fashion, and that was something to be avoided at _all _costs.

Something, some hint of his frustration, must have leaked through, because the younger man harrumphed and stuck his noise in the air. _"Anyway," _Sephiroth couldn't help but hear the annoyance in that one long, drawn-out word, "I summoned the Invincible and used its souls to take control of Bahamut. I turned the Elephant Lady's greatest weapon against her, and I destroyed her fleet, her Black Mage army, and _her."_

Another shrug of those paudroned shoulders came as Kuja laid his head on Sephiroth's shoulder once more. "I found out later that she'd jettisoned an escape pod and made it to coast of Iifa," he murmured in a more subdued tone, "but she was injured too badly too survive. Once she died, her soul was drawn into the Invincible, just like all the others. In the end, it was her spirit that made it possible for me to enter Trance, and _that _proved to be my undoing."

Sephiroth frowned at that, a glimmer of memory forcing its way through the veil that concealed much of the last eight years of his "life". _"Be careful, angel," _Kuja's voice came to him as though from a great distance, _"You know how deadly Trance can be."_

"Trance," he murmured, half to himself. "Why does that sound familiar?"

He heard Kuja gasp and turned his head, locking gazes with the wide-eyed mage. "You told me to be careful," he said awkwardly, unable to clarify something that he could barely recall. "You reminded me that Trance could be deadly?"

"Yes," Kuja said quickly, elation soaring through at the realization that Sephiroth was at least remembering _part _of what had led to their original meeting. "You were fighting a young warrior with a large broadsword—Gaia, but he had the strangest head of spiked blond hair!—and at one point he began to Trance, and I was worried that you'd be overwhelmed."

Sephiroth stiffened at the description of Cloud Strife, the young Shinra trooper that had killed him after his descent into madness in Nibelheim, and who had defeated Mother's puppet twice since. "You saw _me _fighting him?" he questioned uneasily. The younger man nodded, the motion touchingly eager, and Sephiroth uttered a heavy sigh. It was not _he _that Kuja had originally come to Gaia for—was he truly beginning to believe the other man's outlandish tale?—but Jenova's nightmare child.

He gazed into those pale, diamond-bright eyes, so full of hope that it almost hurt to look into them, and lifted a gentle hand to cup that sensual face. "That was not me, Kuja," he told the younger man quietly. "The _monster _that you saw—the manyou believed to be me—was nothing more than a puppet created in my likeness—_Mother's_ puppet."

"Bullshit!" Kuja exclaimed instantly, lifting a hand to touch his hair with a reverence that made Sephiroth's chest tighten unnervingly. "I _saw _you, angel. The blond boy was attacking you, and his Trance-aura was flaring all around him, and _you," _his hand combed through his hair to emphasize his words, "stopped him before it went too far. You _stabbed _him with that frightfully long katana of yours, and then you _launched _him into the sky. The only reason you lost is because you couldn't stop him from Trancing a second time!"

"That was not me," Sephiroth repeated, the first hint of anger creeping in to tinge his too-deep voice.

"The hell it wasn't!" Kuja turned his hand in Sephiroth's and gripped it hard, silently willing him not to do this. "You know, I forgave you for scaring the daylights out of me when I got here—I even forgave you for trying to _kill _me—but only because I suspected that that blue-skinned monster was controlling you! I'll be damned if I'll just let you dismiss me _now, _after I've finally _got _you! You're stuck with me, angel, and you'd better damned well better get used to it!"

Sephiroth felt a surge of frustration at the other man's obstinacy. He reached up and grasped Kuja's hand, pulling it away from his hair and forcing it back down into his own lap. "Look at me, Kuja, and _understand,"_ he growled, waiting until those pale blue eyes had narrowed angrily—stubbornly—on his to continue. "I _died _eight years ago in Nibelheim. I have been imprisoned in the heart of the Northern Crater—in the _Lifestream—_ever since. The monster—the _abomination—_that you saw fighting Cloud Strife today was_ not _me. It was Mother's creation, created to be _her _ideal of the perfect son. _It _was what she _wanted _me to be, not who—or what—I truly _am. _Do you understand, now?"

Kuja merely gazed at him for a long moment, hurt beyond comprehension as the man that he'd forsaken redemption for denied the very real connection between them. "Let me get this straight," he said in a smooth, even tone that _almost _concealed his pain at this oh-so-_obvious _rejection. "You're telling me that the man I left Purgatory for—the _only _being powerful enough to ever be my equal—is not what I thought he was, so I should just. . . what? Give up? Go home?"

Sephiroth made a strangled sound—why did he have to be so damned _stubborn—_and began again. "I am merely trying to explain that I am not the man you believe I am," he forced through gritted teeth. "I do not remember our first meeting because I was not _present _for it. The monster that you claim tried to kill you _was not me_. Is that truly so hard to comprehend?"

"Oh, no I _comprehend _it perfectly!" Kuja's voice shook with the force of his anger as he yanked his hand free and sprang to his feet. He towered over Sephiroth, his silver-blue eyes sparkling with righteous indignation—and a devastating sheen of tears. "You know, all you had to say was, 'Sorry, Kuja, but I'm not interested,'. Why the hell didn't you just _tell _me that you didn't want me? What was the point of acting like you _cared _ if you really didn't?"

Sephiroth winced inwardly and reached out to him, only to have his hand knocked away. "Kuja, this isn't a rejection—"

"Oh, please!" the young mage shot back scornfully, his hands fumbling with the clasps of the greatcoat his angel—_the _angel, he quickly reminded himself, not _his—_had so solicitously given him. "I've rejected enough men—and women!—in my time to recognize it when it's happening to _me!"_

"So-so there!" He finally unfastened the leather monstrosity, balled it up in his hands, and threw it at the other man. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that I _need _you, angel," he all but sneered. "I'm an Angel of Death. I don't need _anyone." _

Sephiroth snatched the coat out of the air with an almost absent movement, his silver-green eyes locked on Kuja as the younger man ran his hands through his heavy silver hair and lift his chin proudly. "Have a nice life, angel. I'll make my own way from here on out, and don't you worry, there are _plenty _of men and women who will be eager to taste what _you _were so willing to throw away!"

Kuja turned on his heel and walked away from the campsite, those deliciously rounded hips swinging with every angry step that he took, and Sephiroth sighed deeply as he contemplated whether or not to go after him. It was cold, and Kuja had nearly succumbed to hypothermia not too long ago. It wasn't wise for him to go off by himself, especially considering how little his unusual clothing actually covered. But if Sephiroth went after him now, before he had a chance to calm down and think about the situation rationally, they would only end up arguing again. And _that _was the last thing he wanted.

He glanced at the fire, and the forgotten supper that was only minutes away from burning, and then shook his head. It would be better if he waited for Kuja's anger to dissipate before going after him. He would finish cooking the Jumping and eat. He'd make sure that he saved enough for Kuja, but he would _not _ chase after the other man. It had never worked with Genesis, and he doubted that it would work with Kuja now. The other man would come back when he was ready and not before, and he would _not_ try to force him to.

Sephiroth ignored the little voice in the back of his head that was telling him, _"Go after him __**now!", **_confident that he had made the right decision. Whether Kuja was another of his clones—which he truly was beginning to doubt—or not, he was _not _ going to give in. He was not in the wrong here, and he'd be damned a second time before he let himself grovel for _anyone's _forgiveness.

He was still telling himself that an hour later as he banked the fire, called Masamune, and strode determinedly into the storm.

* * *

Kuja stomped through the icy, snow-packed landscape, swiping angrily at the tears that threatened to turn to ice on his already frozen cheeks. Damn him! he fumed. How dare he do this to him?! He was to one who had reached out to Kuja—_he _was the one that had made Kuja's passage between worlds possible in first place—and yet he'd _still _had the nerve to reject him! No wonder he'd seemed so _amused _by Kuja's efforts at seduction. Granted, the weather and lack of proper shelter didn't provide the most romantic of circumstances, but he'd been working under the assumption that his angel _desired _him. And now, to find out that he'd been _wrong, _that Sephiroth didn't want him _at all. . ._it was simply _devastating._

No, he was not going to let this hurt him! he told himself sternly. His angel—_Sephiroth, _he reminded himself hastily—had made his decision, and that was that. It was a stupid decision, one that Kuja was certain he'd come to regret, but that wasn't _his _problem any more. He had to figure out how to get back to the world he'd so recklessly—stupidly—left behind so he could finish his confinement and be redeemed. Hopefully, whoever—or whatever—had spared him wouldn't hold this little lapse against him. He _was _trying to be a better person, he'd just lost his way for a few hours, that was all.

Just the thought of returning to the Iifa Tree, and his boring, monotonous existence was enough to bring a well of fresh tears to his eyes. He truly hated it there, and to know that that was all that was left to him was enough to make him rethink his plans. Did he really want to return to that boring facsimile of life? Was redemption truly worth the price he'd been paying? He didn't _want _to spend the rest of his life alone, with no one to talk to and no one to love him. But if he couldn't have his beautiful, perfect—or not so perfect—angel, was he ready to face a life on a strange new world alone?

Kuja came to an abrupt halt, glancing around at his barren, ice-covered surrounds. He wrapped his arms around himself and wished that he'd kept Sephiroth's coat, missing the other man in a way he wouldn't have believed possible, all the while trying to make what would be a life-altering decision. He absolutely _loathed _being alone. He'd always surrounded himself with people, loving the chatter and noise and chaos that came with along with them. Thanks to Garland, he'd spent most of his formidable years alone. It wasn't until he'd become a gunrunner on Gaia that he'd been able to fill his longings for companionship. While it was true that none of his "friends" had truly known him, at least he hadn't felt so damned _lonely _when around them.

He could probably make new friends here, but if Sephiroth's initial reaction to him—during their second meeting, not their first—was anything to go by, he might not get the warm reception he'd come to expect. He'd always been different, even on Gaia, but here he might be seen as something. . .well, monstrous, and that just wouldn't do at all.

Kuja looked down at his beautiful, sumptuous clothes, sodden with moisture and dripping icicles here and there, and knew that he'd have to have a whole new wardrobe if he was to survive here. He was sure that the entire planet couldn't be _this _cold, but his clothing was obviously inappropriate. If Sephiroth's were any indication, leather was the material of choice here, and he'd probably be forced to wear _pants _on a regular basis.

He shuddered at the mere thought of it. He didn't wear trousers for a variety of reasons, the most important being that they couldn't conceal his tail. It couldn't be comfortably hidden in them, and displaying it was _out _of the question. He would have to alter whatever he procured, and then wear one of those atrocious leather greatcoats to simply hide the fact that he possessed the appendage. Talk about a bother!

But, it _could _be done, he thought with a the beginnings of a smile. Of course, he hadn't revealed that part of him to his angel yet, but once he did, he was sure that Sephiroth would help him—

"Damn it!" he swore aloud, his smile morphing into a scowl as he remembered that Sephiroth wouldn't help him with anything, because he'd decided that he didn't _want _him. He saw his angel in his mind's eye, reaching out to him with a devilishly graceful gloved hand, and his own shooting out to knock it away.

"Kuja, this isn't a rejection—" He winced, wishing that he'd kept his mouth shut long enough to hear the rest of that sentence. What if he'd meant it? he asked himself with a hope he couldn't deny. What if his angel truly hadn't meant to reject him? Then, if not a rejection, why had he kept insisting that he wasn't the man Kuja believed he was?

"_The **monster **that you saw—the man you believed to be me—was nothing more than a puppet created in my likeness—**Mother's** puppet." _

"Oh, for Gaia's sake!" Kuja exclaimed, throwing both hands up in the air as comprehension _finally _dawned. "Is _that_ what this is all about? Is it because you think I want the crazy side of you more than the sane side?"

There was no one there to answer him, of course, but it made perfect sense. His angel had repeatedly referred to his mother—to this Jenova creature—as a monster. His angel was a dominant man, one with definite control issues, and that _other _ part of him had _serious _mommy issues. If that side of him had been controlled by her, then it stood to reason that he would see that part of himself as monstrous as well.

"Well, hell, angel," he swore into the cold night air, "I do believe I owe you an apology."

The thought chafed—badly—but in all fairness he _had _been the one to fly off the handle. While he _never _apologized for his actions, Sephiroth was his _equal. _If couldn't humble himself before him—just a little, mind you—then he wasn't a man worthy of the name. So, he'd go back to camp, apologize for acting like an ass, eat the meal that his angel had _hunted _for him, and then he'd let the man screw him silly.

Kuja grinned at the crudeness of his thoughts, but he was sure that the term would prove to be especially apt. Those pesky control issues that Kuja already knew were going to drive himcrazy would probably preclude _him _ being top, at least for a while, but he was fairly certain he could live with that. Once his angel got to know him, once he learned to _trust _him, he'd bring subject up. Until then, he could _more _than handle bottoming for the most powerful, perfect man in existence.

He sighed longingly at the lovely imagery that accompanied _those _thoughts and turned around, intending to go straight back to camp and his beautiful angel. A frown tugged at his brows as he realized that he had gone _much_ farther than he'd intended, and that he wasn't quite sure where he was. He could no longer see the light from the fire, smell its smoke, or even detect the salivating scent of roasting rabbit.

He could see only the vaguest depressions beneath the rapidly falling snow, and he could only hope that his own footprints lasted long enough to get him back to camp, or Sephiroth was going to end up being forced to rescue him again.

"Lovely," he muttered under his breath, tucking his cold hands under his arms as he began to trudge forward. "Next time, we're going someplace warm, angel. Just so you know. No more artic regions—_ever."_

He kept up a steady stream of nonsensical conversation with himself, trying to take his mind off the fact that he was walking through the middle of a full-blown _blizzard _with absolutely _no idea _of where he was. Sure, he had his footprints to follow, but they were fading fast, and his superior nose still hadn't caught any familiar scents. How the hell had he managed to wander so far away from camp in such a short amount of time?

A scent came to him then, an interesting mixture of human, that godsawful mako stink, and something else, something that he recognized on a purely instinctual level. It was a scent that he had come to associate with Sephiroth, an extra. . .freshness, for lack of a better word. He'd never known anyone else whose body carried that particular pheromone, and he wondered briefly it was something that his angel's mother had contributed to his DNA. It would certainly explain why Sephiroth was so completely different from anyone else he'd ever known, although it _wouldn't _explain why he was smelling it _now, _when he knew that Sephiroth wasn't anywhere nearby_._

A glimmering cascade of shining scarlet flowed out of the storm before him, landing nearly ten feet away from him, and his question was left unanswered as he concentrated on the being before him. It was a glorious sight as it stretched up from the snow-covered ground in a shimmering column of crimson, one that Kuja would certainly never forget, even as he prepared to kill it.

He gathered a mass of magical power in his right hand and waited, watching with bright, curious eyes as the tower of red slowly coalesced into the form of a man. And an utterly _breathtaking _man, at that, Kuja thought with appreciation. Clad in form-fitting black leather, the scarlet matter settled over the man's shoulders, taking on the shape of an elaborate—if somewhat tattered—cloak. A gold gauntlet encased the man's left hand, its clawed tips a warning to anyone smart enough to observe them. His right hand was clad in a simple black leather glove, and it hovered above a large scabbard that was strapped to a slender yet masculine thigh. Protruding from the holster was an unusual weapon, one Kuja had never seen before, and he quickly deduced that it was probably some kind of shortsword, much like the oversized daggers Zidane had always used in battle.

"Interesting," he murmured to himself, dragging his inquisitive gaze up _over _that spectacular body to the near-perfect face above it. He smiled slowly, seductively, and hoped that he wouldn't _have _to kill something so pretty this night. "Oh my, you _are _a handsome one, aren't you?"

There was no response from the man before him, but Kuja didn't really care if he got one or not. He was too busy appreciating the stranger's dark, undeniably striking good looks to care if the man did something so mundane as _speak._ He admired the long mass of silky sable hair that tumbled over the man's shoulders, nearly reaching the small of his back, in a stunning contrast to the rich crimson of his cape. And the _face _it framed. . .

The stranger had the palest skin, like pure alabaster, almost as perfect as his angel's. His nose was straight—if a bit large at the end for Kuja's liking—and it sat _perfectly _over a pair of luscious-looking lips with those little upturned grooves at the ends that he'd always adored. It was his eyes, though, that captured one's attention and held it. A deep shade of crimson red, they shone in the darkness like a pair of iridescent rubies, and were impossible to read. They held the same unusual glow as Sephiroth's did, and he wondered if _all _of the men on this world were so. . .so devastatingly _divine._

As those marvelous eyes flickered, and the hand near the shortsword slowly dropped away, it occurred to Kuja that this might be the shape-shifter that Sephiroth had mentioned before their little blow-out, but he wasn't overly concerned. Not only did the man seem decidedly _not hostile,_ but swords—no matter how elaborately decorated—were no match for the power of magic.

"Are you the shape-shifter that my angel ran into earlier tonight?" he asked, tipping his head to one side in a deceptively coy manner. "He didn't mention that were so. . ._attractive."_

Those lovely ruby eyes flickered again, something almost. . .inhuman crawling through their bloodlike depths, and Kuja sighed with disappointment. He had to admit that he was _not _used to being ignored in such a way, and he was beginning to suspect that this man was just a pretty monster after all.

"If you're _capable _of speech, now would be the time to talk," he informed the other man loftily, gathering just a bit more energy for the fight he was suddenly certain was coming. "It's not often that beautiful men appear out of thin air before me, but as I'm spoken for, I'm afraid that I really don't have time to play with you. It's a pity, though," he added with a shrug. "I'm sure I would have enjoyed you."

"How have you managed to hold that spell for so long without casting?" came the _totally _unexpected response.

Gaia, but his voice reminded him of Sephiroth's! Kuja thought with a shiver. Deep, smooth, and deliciously dark, it glided over the skin like a physical touch. The other man shifted and crossed both arms over his chest, seemingly oblivious to the storm raging around them, and Kuja suddenly remembered that he'd been asked a question.

He hoped that the darkness hid the embarrassed blush creeping into his cheeks as he snapped, "That's right, you need those little glass orbs to cast magic here, don't you?" in a waspish voice.

One sable brow crawled up the man's forehead in a gesture that was a little _too _familiar to Kuja. "Normally, yes," the stranger answered somewhat arrogantly. "I don't sense any Materia on you, though."

"Ah, well, let's just say that I'm. . .different," Kuja waved one hand around dismissively, "and leave it at that, shall we?"

A second eyebrow shot up to join the first, and Kuja barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Why don't you tell me why _you _decided to suddenly—magically—appear in front of me?" he countered impatiently. "Or, we can begin with a proper introduction, if you'd like. Either way, I would like you to answer _my _question—preferably _now."_

"Vincent Valentine," the stranger replied, pausing as though the name was supposed to mean something to him. Kuja nodded once and opened his mouth to respond when the stranger—Vincent Valentine—cut him off. "The _man_ you're traveling with, do you know who—or what—he really is?"

Kuja opened his mouth to offer a scathing retort—he _really _didn't like the other man's choice of words, not to mention being so rudely cut off—when he was interrupted for a second time. "He knows what he needs to, Turk."

Sephiroth came strolling out of the storm, his expression hard, that ridiculously oversized katana of his clasped in his left hand, Kuja's discarded greatcoat in his right. Valentine responded immediately, whirling around and setting his hand on the hilt of his unusual weapon. Sephiroth stopped a good ten feet away from him—with that sword, he really didn't have much of a choice—and pointed the massive odachi straight at the red-cloaked man.

"Get away from him, Kuja," he called out, his catlike green eyes never leaving Vincent's crimson ones. "I'll take care of this."

Kuja's patience finally ran out. "Oh, for Gaia's sake!" he exclaimed, drawing the unused Meteor spell back into his body with a sharp shake of his hand. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, angel, but I am _more _than capable of defending myself!"

"Now," he made his way to Sephiroth's side, keeping a careful eye on their new "friend" as he circled him, "why don't you tell me exactly who he is, and _why _you didn't mention that you knew him _before."_

Sephiroth never even glanced at him as he said, "I don't remember him, Kuja, but I recognize his name_. _That's enough."

Kuja suddenly felt like banging his head into a wall. "Angel. . ." he growled threateningly.

The other man's lips tightened, the only outward sigh of his displeasure, as he forced himself to offer an explanation. "He is one of Cloud Strife's companions, one of those who hunted Mother's puppet three years ago, and helped stop my remnants from triggering a second Reunion this morning."

Kuja cast Vincent a dark look, ignoring all the little details he didn't yet understand, and focused on the one statement that he had _no _trouble comprehending. "You helped that little blond swordsman kill_ my_ angel?" he asked in a voice that dripped with venom.

Sephiroth heard the darkness which crept into that smooth, cultured voice and was shocked to realize that Kuja was angry on his behalf. "Kuja, I have already explained that that monster was not me," he said in a far gentler tone of voice, hoping to diffuse that anger before something irrevocable happened. "AVALANCHE had every right to hunt and destroy him. I bear them no grudge for doing so."

Kuja responded with a slow, chilling smile. "Maybe, _I'm _not so forgiving."

Vincent watched the silver-haired man with the unusual facial features and disturbingly long fingernails call on another spell and tensed, ready to flee if it became necessary. He was no match for Sephiroth, let alone a second opponent who could cast magic without materia. Perhaps, it was time for him to do as the mage suggested and _speak._

"I'm not here to fight either of you." He swung his gaze back to Sephiroth's, who so resembled beautiful Lucrecia that it _hurt _to look at him, and let his hand drop away from his beloved Cerberus. It was a risk, but since Sephiroth didn't _seem _to be brilliantly insane at the moment, he didn't want to antagonize him. Besides, this was the first time he'd ever had a coherent conversation with Lucrecia's son, and he wasn't about to give that up for _anything._ "I wanted only to speak with your. . .traveling companion, and ascertain whether or not he was accompanying you _willingly."_

Sephiroth surprised him by grunting and lowering Masamune, though he still kept it positioned between them, his wariness by no means vanquished. "You need not worry yourself on that account, Turk. I could not rid myself of him if I tried," he returned, deadpan.

Sephiroth caught the furious look that Kuja sent his way and had the insane urge to smile at the outrage which leapt into those pale blue skies eyes. "Now, wait just a minute—!" the younger man began to protest, and Sephiroth cut him off by tossing the trench coat at his startled face. "Put that on," he ordered in a tone which brooked no argument. "I don't want you dying on me."

"As if I would!" Kuja huffed, outraged by his angel's domineering behavior, and equally—reluctantly—touched by his thoughtfulness. Once again, he dismissed the spell he'd been building, and began to fight his way into the tight, damp leather monstrosity. "Gods, I don't know how you can stand wearing clothing this damned tight. And leather, in a snowstorm? Really? Don't you know that leather _shrinks _when it gets wet?"

Sephiroth's lips twitched as he fought to keep his rapidly growing affection for the younger man from showing. Kuja began to curse—creatively—as he tried and failed to pull the heavy leather over the pauldrons of his own tunic, and Sephiroth could suppress his smile no longer. "Kuja, do you need me to help you with that?" he asked in an intentionally bland tone.

"No, I damn well don't need your help!" Kuja shot back, his tone turning nasty as he continued to fight with the greatcoat. "I am not a child! I've been dressing myself for twenty-six years now, thank you very much!"

Vincent watched with something akin to fascination as Sephiroth—the One-Winged Angel, The Nightmare, Jenova's Child—began to laugh at his companion's antics. It only a short laugh, closer to a chuckle, but it lacked the malevolence that still haunted Vincent's nightmares, and betrayed Sephiroth's fondness for the odd-looking man who accompanied him.

Kuja finally managed to maneuver the uncomfortable leather greatcoat into place, settling it over his armor and quickly fastening all seven buckles. "There!" he said at last, propping two slender hands on his shapely hips. "Happy, now?"

"Yes, very," Sephiroth answered, his dry tone at odds with the warmth that radiated from the depths of eyes. "Thank you, little monkey."

"_Harrumph!" _Kuja tossed his silver head and sidled closer to him, his own expression making it clear that he was only grudgingly forgiving him, before shooting Vincent a decidedly unfriendly look. "As you can see, I'm with _my _angel of my own free will, so you can just. . .go away now, Vincent Valentine!"

Vincent only blinked and leveled an eloquent glance at Lucrecia's child. "I'd hoped we could talk," he said, his voice little more than a silken murmur beneath the howl of the wind. "I'm sure you have questions about your mother, and I—"

"His _mother?!" _Kuja slid his slim body in front of Sephiroth's in a blatantly protective gesture, much to Sephiroth's chagrin. "Oh, I _don't _think so!"

Sephiroth cursed the blush that crept into his cheeks even as he set his free hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "He is not referring to Jenova," he told the younger man awkwardly. "He means my _human _mother, Kuja."

"Human mother?" Kuja half-turned back to him, his expression one of dumbfounded disbelief. "Angel, I think that you and _I _need to have a little talk of our own!"

"Yes, we do," Sephiroth agreed, smiling faintly as he gave Kuja's shoulder a gentle squeeze before withdrawing, "but that can wait until later."

The humor drained away as he lifted solemn silver-green eyes to Vincent Valentine. "Come, Vincent," he intoned in a quiet voice. "We can talk after we return to camp, and Kuja has eaten."

He didn't give Vincent a chance to answer, merely turned on his heel and strode away, his long silver hair swaying with every silent step. Kuja sent Vincent once last glare and turned away, practically jogging as he sought to catch up to his companion. Vincent watched with surprise—and not a little interest—as Sephiroth slowed his pace to accommodate the younger man, even going so far as to take Kuja's hand in his own and pull him to his side. Lucrecia's son seemed to have formed an attachment to the odd young magic user, and Vincent couldn't help but wonder if that was because they shared similar—if not identical—genetics.

Vincent sighed heavily at the thought. If Kuja was yet another remnant, or a clone that had escaped some unknown Shinra laboratory, Cloud and the others would have to be informed. He couldn't be allowed to roam free, wreaking havoc on their already devastated world. Vincent knew that he should have already called Reeve Tuesti, the president of the W.R.O., with the news that _Sephiroth _had been reborn. He'd chosen to follow him instead, to observe him from the shadows and ascertain for himself just what his intentions were. That much, he owed Lucrecia Crescent.

Shaking his head at his own sentimentality, Vincent flipped his cape back away from his weapon and began to follow. It was going to be an interesting night, to say the least.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Don't own, don't sue.

**Plot Synopsis: **SephirothxKuja, my two favorite Final Fantasy villains brought together. Beyond that. . .I'll let you know =)

**Author's Note: **Revelation scenes can be a bitch to write, but I think I finally nailed it! Hopefully, you'll think so, too. Drop a line and let know=) Oh, and remember that I'm still betaless, so excuse any mistakes you find. I'll be correcting them as I find them. Thanks, DS1.

* * *

**Final Fantasy: Final Requiem**

Chapter 7

Kuja knelt gingerly before the dead campfire, shivering violently as his exhausted body continued to fight the icy coldness of what his angel called the Northern Continent. He could hear Sephiroth and Vincent as they moved around in the darkness behind him, but couldn't be bothered to look for them. Even if he weren't the most powerful mage on _three _separate planets, he was fully confident that Sephiroth wouldn't let anything happen to him_. _And honestly, he didn't think that Vincent meant them any harm. The utterly gorgeous, annoyingly silent man had ample opportunity to attack them on way back to camp, and if he hadn't tried anything then, Kuja thought it highly unlikely that he would now.

The wind howled almost angrily as it swept over him, tossing damp, tangled silver locks into his face, and he pushed it back with a shaking hand. His little temper-tantrum had cost him dearly, and he was quickly coming to the end of his normally indomitable physical endurance. He needed to get warm as soon as possible, or death by hypothermia could become more than a mere possibility.

And while he was forced to admit that a part of him _enjoyed _having Sephiroth take care of him – it was touching, really – his angel's overprotectiveness was slowly driving Kuja up the proverbial wall. He was an Angel of Death. He was _fully _capable of taking care of himself. He'd just found himself totally unprepared for the inhospitable climate of his angel's world, that was all.

Kuja focused on the dead fire, determined to relight it before Sephiroth could, in case the other needed a reminder of just how capable _he _truly was. He narrowed his eyes and called on the magic that was such an intrinsic part of him, a simple Fira spell this time. It wasn't nearly as impressive as Flare would be, but he was tired, he didn't trust himself to control such a powerful spell while feeling so utterly drained.

He smiled with tired satisfaction as his body responded to the call, the magic rising up to flow through him in a sweet wave of power. It coursed through his veins like warm honey, infusing his body with heat, temporarily distracting him from his physical misery. He cradled the dancing Fira spell between his hands, savoring the feel of live-giving heat against his frozen skin. He held the spell for as long as he dared – contrary to what others might believe, he _could _be harmed by his own magic, under the right circumstances – and then let it go.

He dropped his hands and willed the sphere of red-hot magic towards the remains of the campfire. The damp, charred wood sputtered and sparked before finally catching, and he heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank Gaia," he muttered to himself, extending both hands to the fire's blazing heat, "I'm not going to freeze to death after all!"

He felt the presence at his back just moments before Sephiroth's deep, divinely sexy voice wound its dark way through his heightened senses. "You say that as though I'd allow it," the other man stated rather arrogantly, much to Kuja's chagrin.

He cast an arch smile over his shoulder, making sure his displeasure was known, even as his gaze devoured the tall, muscular form that literally towered over his own. "So, you're here to save me from my own stupidity, are you?" he questioned haughtily, doing his vest _not _to be distracted by flowing rivers of glinting silver hair. "How very. . ._kind _of you, angel."

The other man raised one silver brow – Kuja had to admit that he was surprised that they were so light when the man's lashes were so silky and _dark_ – and dropped a bundle of leather into his lap with a grunt. "Heat that," his angel ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. "Eat before you drop, Kuja."

_Oglop_, Kuja thought again, scowling as he opened his mouth to offer a scathing retort. A second eyebrow shot up to join the first, a hard expression creeping crawling in to brighten the already brilliant depths of those cat-like green eyes, and Kuja hastily thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was to start another fight with this man, whom he had such high hopes for. His angel could be an uncivilized boor at times, but he _did _mean well. He could forgive alot, in light of that.

Kuja turned away and focused on the bundle in his lap, his icy hands fumbling with the straps of what appeared to be a large purse. The odd collection of bottles and little round spheres told him that this was probably a weapons pack, and the accompanying scent of food was enough to make to make him salivate.

Sephiroth was instantly forgiven for treating him like a two-year-old as Kuja found the remnants of what he assumed was the large rabbit the other man had been cooking earlier. He ignored the grease which all but coated to his fingers as he separated a drumstick from the rest of the dead beast. He wouldn't find anything as civilized as napkins out here in the uncivilized wilds, and right now he couldn't afford to be picky. He was _starving._

And yet, the food was temporarily forgotten as he watched his angel crouch before fire and feed yet another damp log into it. Even that simple, ordinary motion was marked with an elegant grace that was nearly inhuman, and it was enough to make him sigh with sensual appreciation. He had always loved beautiful, dangerous things, and he could think of nothing more beautiful or dangerous than his silver-haired angel. The man truly was _perfection._

As though sensing his thoughts, Sephiroth's head slowly turned towards him. The moonlit veil of his hair blew wildly around his face, tossed to and fro by a sudden gust of wind. The quieted as suddenly as it had risen, falling to frame his beautiful face in pale perfection. It shimmered ethereally in the firelight, turning from a river of satiny silver to a molten flow of pure white-gold, and Kuja had to curl his hands against a nearly overwhelming urge to reach out and touch it. The pale jade of his angel's eyes glimmered as they reflected the fire's light, and the raw lust emanating from their charged depths was enough to send frissions of heat shooting through his body.

Kuja sent him a slow, provocative smile in return, one that echoed the sensual images racing through his agile mind, and nearly laughed aloud when the older man stiffened and hastily looked away. His angel might be a man of unparalleled beauty and power, but he certainly didn't seem to know what to do with _him. _But that was all right, because Kuja was more than willing to help him out with _that._

Sephiroth rose to his feet and withdrew from the fire without uttering a word, and Kuja couldn't stifle the smug smile which sprang to his lips. Oh, yes, he told himself confidently, his angel most definitely _wanted _him. That he could have thought differently – even for a moment – had been incredibly foolish of him. It was a mistake that he would _not _make again.

A quiet grunt sounded as his angel dropped to the ground behind him, and his smile only widened as strong arms wrapped around his waist and hauled him back against a hard, muscled chest. "And here I thought I might have embarrassed you," he said in an intentionally blasé tone.

Another grunt sounded as long, leather-clad legs stretched out on either side of his hips, framing his own in a surprisingly intimate fashion, and Kuja all but melted against him. "My angel," Kuja murmured on a sigh, and he felt more than heard the chuckle that rumbled through that perfect chest.

"Little monkey," Sephiroth returned, the low tone laced with humor and the lust he had yet to banish. He hadn't planned on approaching Kuja so soon after their argument – especially after the. . .moment they'd just shared – but his instincts seemed intent on disregarding his logical mind and staking a claim he wasn't certain that he _wanted _to make_._

He chose not to respond to the younger man's surprisingly perceptive comment and squeezed his slender waist in affectionate warning. "You must eat to regain your strength, Kuja. Do not make me tell you again."

The younger man sighed a second time, the sound deep, long, and utterly dramatic as he pulled the drumstick out of the pack. He used just enough Fira magic to warm the rabbit leg, smiling with satisfaction as the aroma of freshly cooked meat filled the air. "Voila!" he exclaimed theatrically, waving the now steaming meat up above Sephiroth's head. "Satisfied?"

"No," Sephiroth stated flatly, his breath hot against the smaller man's ear as he ducked his head. "I have yet to see you actually _consume _anything."

"Oh, bother!" Kuja tossed his sodden head, more to hide the sudden shudder of his body than in real irritation, and lifted the meat to his lips. He sunk his teeth into the hot meat and immediately groaned with appreciation. He chewed as quickly as good manners would allow, fighting the urge to tear into the drumstick like a starving peasant. Gaia, but he was famished!

Sephiroth's voice sounded again, the teasing tinge more obvious this time. "It's good, I take it?"

"It's absolutely _wonderful, _angel." Kuja twisted around and pressed a quick, pleased kiss to the cool skin of his cheek. "Thank you, for hunting and preparing it for me."

Sephiroth raised one eyebrow, trying desperately to ignore the way his body hardened with need at that simple, innocuous touch. "You are welcome," he told the young sorcerer warmly, then ruined the moment by adding, "Although, I had _both _of us in mind when I caught it."

Kuja snorted – elegantly, of course – and disregarded his words with a wave of one violet-tipped hand. "Semantics, angel, nothing more."

Sephiroth smiled down at the crown of his head, watching as that curious violet-tinged feather whipped to and fro in the brisk wind. "As you say, Kuja. Now," his voice hardened perceptively, _"eat."_

The other man grumbled under his breath - something about oglops and pushy angels – and finally began to eat. Sephiroth watched him closely, leaning over his shoulder to make sure that every piece of the drumstick made it into Kuja's sensuous mouth. Kuja merely rolled his eyes and continued to eat, although the smile that Sephiroth glimpsed curving his lips told him that the younger man was far from unhappy, and Sephiroth concluded that he simply didn't like being told what to do.

Unfortunately, that was something he would have to become accustomed to, Sephiroth thought, fully conscious of his own arrogance as he did so. But it _was_ the truth. If Kuja truly was from another world, then he would need a guide here on Gaia, someone to protect him while he learned how to live in a society that was vastly different from his own. While he had nothing but Kuja's unfinished story – and he fully intended to hear how _that _ended – and his bizarre clothing to go by, Sephiroth would surmise that his world very different indeed.

Kuja finally declared himself full and stuffed what little remained of the cooking Jumping back into the deceptively small leather pack. He set the bag on the ground beside him and leaned back once again, wiggling a bit to find a more comfortable position on the hard, cold ground. "Ah, that's better," he declared, fitting the back of his head into the hollow of Sephiroth's shoulder. "You make a very comfortable pillow, angel."

"Do I, now?" Sephiroth questioned quietly, smiling to himself as he felt those small, deceptively delicate hands begin to trace a sensuous journey up the leather encasing his thighs. "Kuja, I thought we agreed that we needed to _discuss _ this part of our. . .relationship before we took it any further."

Kuja's hands stilled at the reminder of their earlier talk, and the fight it had led to. Damn it, he really _should _apologize for that. "I owe you an apology," he began stiffly, ignoring the sting of his pride as he humbled himself before the other man. "I didn't mean to fly off the handle, or misinterpret your words the way I did. I guess you were right when you said that I was. . .sensitive, and I-I'm _sorry."_

He bit the last word off, his tone brimming with prideful reluctance, and Sephiroth tightened his hold fractionally. "And I regret that I did not explain myself more clearly," he returned with simple sincerity. "Do you require an explanation, now?"

The younger man shook his silver head negatively, and Sephiroth felt a sense of relief. Jenova – and his tie to her – was not his something he liked to talk about. Instead, he rubbed his chin against the smooth skin of Kuja's temple, silent as he considered his next question. "Precisely where does this leave us?"

Kuja twisted just enough to gaze up at him, his diamond-bright eyes wide and very blue. His beautiful, normally confident features wore a vulnerability that Sephiroth hadn't seen before, and it touched the heart that he had prayed was dead. "This leaves us exactly where we were _before _I decided to throw a my little tantrum. Unless," the younger man hesitated, lowering his gaze almost shyly as one violet-tipped hand come up to trace delicate patterns on the lapel of his coat, "you've changed your mind about _me?"_

Sephiroth shook his head negatively, sending rivers of satiny silver flowing over them both, as he reached up to capture that hand in his own. "No," he said a solemn, uncomfortable voice, "although I should disclose that I hadn't yet decided exactly _what _I should do about. . ." he floundered for a moment, searching for the right word to describe what the passionate fire that flared between them, and then gave in with a heavy sigh, _"us."_

He shook his head again, sorrow creeping in to darken the pale green glow of his eyes, and Kuja felt a tightening somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. "Why?" he asked in a calm, quiet voice that didn't quite hide the hurt Sephiroth's words had caused. "Surely, you don't still think that I'm one of your. . .whatever it is that you thought I was when we met?"

Those bright green eyes studied him for a long, endless moment. "I don't know," his angel answered, honest even as reluctance coloring that sinfully deep voice. "I simply do not know, Kuja."

Kuja was shocked by the depth of the disappointment which filled him at those mournful words. He swallowed hard and forced a smile to lips, more worried about his angel in that moment than himself. Whatever had happened to Sephiroth on his world, it had scarred him, and left him with a _deep _distrust of others. Nothing that _he _couldn't handle, of course, but it _would _make seducing the man a tad bit more difficult.

"Well, I'll just have to work harder to convince you that I'm _not _this something else then, won't I?" he questioned in a bright, cheerful voice that belied the seriousness of their conversation.

Sephiroth frowned as his discomfort deepened. It entwined with an emotion perilously close to hope, a dangerous combination for one such as him. He untangled his hand from Kuja's and brought it up to his face, sliding his hand along the pure line of his jaw, his gloved thumb sweeping gently over silken skin. "There are things you don't know about me, Kuja," he told the younger man all too somberly. "What I've done, who I've been, the people I have hurt. You may very well change our mind once you hear them."

A small, tender smile curved Kuja's lips at that. "Oh, angel," he said softly, "if you weren't horrified by what _I _have already told you, there certainly isn't anything that _you_ could say to scare me away."

Sephiroth merely gazed at him with a sense of consternation. His wariness of intimate relationships had been hard-earned, and hearing Kuja's fantastic tale had only reinforced his belief that he should ignore this attraction that flared so hotly between them. And yet, as he gazed down at the warm, openly affectionate expression on Kuja's sensually beautiful features, he could only wonder if fighting this overwhelming swell of emotion was even _possible. _

The polite clearing of a throat was enough to remind both men that they weren't alone. Kuja promptly scowled and shot their forgotten visitor a dark look, while Sephiroth merely uttered a silent sigh and pulled himself back to the reality of their situation. "We will discuss this another time," he told the younger man as he dropped his hand. "For now, why don't you lie down and try to sleep. The sun rises early in the north."

Kuja frowned harder at what was essentially another order, but even he had to admit that this was hardly the time for an intimate discussion. Later, after their mysterious _guest _left and they were alone once more, he would broach the subject again. For now, he really _was _tired, and frankly, he could use the break. It had been a _long _day.

"Fine," he muttered, unable to mask his frustration as he shifted, dropped his head onto his angel's lap, and curled himself around one splayed leg. "Don't stay up too late talking to your _friend _there. I want to be out of here and someplace warm and dry as soon as possible!"

Sephiroth blinked as the other man appropriated his lap – and a good portion of his leg – and promptly closed his eyes. He knew that he shouldn't be surprised by the younger man's actions, as Kuja had already shown that he had little respect for the personal space of others, but he couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable this beautiful, unusual man seemed in his presence after less than a day's acquaintance. Did Kuja truly believe that he knew him so well?

"He seems very. . .comfortable with you," Vincent said into the silence, unconsciously echoing his thoughts as he splayed his gauntleted hand on the ground behind him and leaned back. "Has he been with you long?"

Sephiroth reached down to the man in question, running a gentle hand over Kuja's shiny fall of heavy silver hair. He heard what suspiciously resembled a moan of pleasure escape the younger man and smiled to himself as he purposely repeated the caress. "Not long, no," he answered belatedly, his voice little more than a distracted murmur as the bulk of his attention centered on the beautiful man lying so trustingly against him. "When I awakened in the crater, he was there, holding me. Protecting me," he added with a touch of humor. "He was quite the sight to behold."

One jet-black brow shot up upon hearing that. Vincent shifted slightly on the hard ground, bringing one knee up and wrapping his free hand around it. He could only watch, both shocked and amazed, as Lucrecia's child tend to his young, vociferous companion with a care he wouldn't have believed him capable of. That bow-shaped mouth – so like his mother's – was curved ever so slightly at the corners, and although those pure, painfully familiar angelic features never quite thawed, the inscrutable expression did soften around the edges as Sephiroth gazed at his sleeping companion. While it wasn't much, it was enough to tell Vincent that Lucrecia's child had _very_ strong feelings for the strange, powerful, androgynous young man before him.

It went against all that Vincent knew of the great General Sephiroth, but even he had to admit that his knowledge was limited. Out of all the members of AVALANCHE, Cid and Cloud were the only ones who'd met the great General before his descent into insanity. Cid's meeting had been a brief one with few words exchanged between them, and Cloud's association had been short, violent and tainted by madness. Not one of them knew what he had been like as a man, before betrayal and madness had warped him into the homicidal megalomaniac that _he_ had once helped kill. Perhaps, he hadn't been as cold as Tifa believed, or as distant as Cid had described. It was possible that, behind closed doors, he had simply been a man like any other.

He'd had friends once, Vincent knew. He'd learned that much from Tseng after saving he and Elena from Kadaj and his gang in the Forgotten City. Tseng was a Turk, normally the most tight-lipped of men, but he had been grateful enough to answer a few of his questions about beautiful Lucrecia's only child. Vincent had already known about his friendship with Zack Fair – Cloud's tattered memory had retained that much – but it had been the first time Vincent heard the names Angeal Hewley and Genesis Rhapsodos. Both men had been Shinra Generals, powerful SOLDER Firsts in their own right, and with whom Sephiroth had been. . .close. While Tseng hadn't actually confirmed that they had been intimates, Vincent had been trained as a Turk. He knew how to read between the lines and hear the unspoken. Hewley and Rhapsodos had been Sephiroth's lovers before Hewley committed suicide, and Rhapsodos had been the one to reveal the awful truth of the Jenova Project to him. Perhaps, losing them had contributed to his descent into madness.

And although he loathed what he was about to do, the words had to be spoken. "Is he one of yours?" he asked in a carefully inflectionless voice. "Another remnant, perhaps, or a forgotten clone?"

Sadness flitted across those patrician features, and answer in and of itself. Or so Vincent believed, until the other man spoke. "I don't know," Sephiroth answered with heavy honesty. "He says not, and after some of the things he's told me, I'm almost inclined to believe him, but. . ."

_Almost. _Vincent latched onto that one word, and the uncertainty tingeing it, as Sephiroth's voice trailed off. "Why almost?" he queried in a low voice. "Wouldn't you be able to _feel _it if he wasn't?"

Those pale green eyes with their elliptical pupils, which had terrorized so many in the years since Nibelheim, rose and locked onto his own. Vincent suppressed as shiver as he felt himself unable to move, pinned beneath the sheer intensity of that animalistic gaze. "What I feel for Kuja is," Sephiroth hesitated for along moment, lowering his gaze to the sleeping man once more, and Vincent stifled a sigh of relief, "different. The pull is strong, unusually so, but it does not tear at the very fiber of my being as it _should._ And while I have never before experienced a feeling this intense – nor, I believe, has he – he does not _feel _ like one of Jenova's puppets. And yet, there is a. . .a familiarity between us that should not be present on such a short association."

One metal-pauldroned shoulder fell and rose in a helpless half-shrug, and Vincent realized that he meant it. Sephiroth truly didn't _know _what Kuja was, and he was far from comfortable with his lack of knowledge. Vincent glanced down at the man in question, curled trustingly – if possessively – around Sephiroth's leg, and nodded once. If it came to light that Kuja _was _a remnant or a clone, he would be dealt with by the WRO. If he wasn't, Vincent would do whatever he could to make sure that the mage-born man _never _fell into Rufus Shinra's hands.

Shinra Electric Power Company might not be the dominating global force that it once had, but its sly, manipulative young president was not a man to be underestimated. If Rufus thought that there was even a _chance _that this young man carried Jenova cells inside of him, Kuja would simply disappear. No trace of him would ever be found, and not even Sephiroth would be able to save him.

Vincent pushed the thought away as quickly as it formed. Sephiroth was already displaying a marked possessiveness towards the young mage, and he had admitted to caring for him. Vincent didn't want to imagine what would happen, what havoc the One-Winged Angel would wreak on their already devastated world, if something should happen to his unusual companion.

No, he would keep his silence on the subject, and wait to see how events unfolded. There was no use in worrying over what _might _occur. The worst had already happened, and The Planet had weathered the storm. Only time would tell whether or not that storm had truly passed. For Lucrecia's sake – and her son's – he hoped that it had.

"You have her eyes." Those glowing green orbs shot up to his own, their cat-like tilt becoming more pronounced as they widened fractionally, and Vincent forced himself to return that stare steadily. "You have yet to question me about Lucrecia. I would have thought that you would be curious about your mother."

Vincent didn't miss the small, pale hand that tightened on Sephiroth's leg, nor the twin slivers of pale blue that appeared between the silvery veils of Kuja's eyelashes. The younger man didn't speak, merely watched him without expression, ready to intervene if he felt it necessary, no doubt. He was as protective of Sephiroth as the other man was of him, and once again, Vincent was forced to ponder the nature of whatever _feeling _drew them to each other.

"It's all right," Sephiroth murmured, and it wasn't until he tore his gaze from Vincent's and looked down that Vincent realized that he was fully aware of Kuja's conscious state. "Remember that it is not Jenova he speaks of, little monkey. There is no need for you to protect me, now."

The young sorcerer merely nodded and ran a hand down Sephiroth's thigh in a comforting gesture, but astonishingly enough, chose not to speak. He simply closed his eyes once more, settling more comfortably against his companion, and Sephiroth's hand moved over his slender shoulders in silent gratitude.

"I am curious," Lucrecia's son admitted, his deep voice quiet and inflectionless as he lifted his gaze to Vincent's once more, "but I fear that my inquiries might be. . .offensive to one who cared for her as you did."

". . ."

Vincent looked down for a long moment before shaking his sable head negatively. They both knew that Vincent had loved Lucrecia, but she _had _been a married woman, one who had been unfaithful to her husband and had experimented on her own unborn child. It had been a mistake, one she had acknowledged too late, but he would neither justify nor deny her transgressions. They had both sinned, and the man sitting before him was the one who had been forced to pay the price for their transgressions.

"Ask your questions," he told the other man quietly. "You will not offend me."

Sephiroth considered the man – if that was indeed the correct term – before him somberly. Vincent Valentine had cared for his mother, had _loved _her enough to die in an unsuccessful attempt to protect her. Surely, he would have an idea of what lied in her heart the day she'd decided to experiment on the innocent child that she carried in her womb?

"Why?" he asked at last, the question one which had haunted him since learning the whole truth of his birth in the Lifestream. "Why did she choose to use me as a test subject for The Jenova Project?"

Crimson eyes glimmered with regret as Vincent slowly shook his head. "That, I do not know."

Sephiroth's lips tightened, the only sign of his displeasure with what he was certain was an evasion, and Vincent forced himself to sit up straighter. "Truly, Sephiroth, " _Gods, but it was strange to say his name so casually, _"that is a question I have never been able to answer for myself. I can only tell you that she regretted what she had done, and that she never recovered from losing you."

Sephiroth merely nodded silently, yet his disappointment was a palpable thing. "Was it Hojo?" he asked, an edge to his voice that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than anger. "Was it my father who ripped me from my mother's arms?"

Those brilliant ruby eyes focused on him, narrowing as the faintest of frowns tugged at his brow. "It was Hojo, yes, but. . ." Vincent's voice trailed off as he lifted his gaze back to Lucrecia's son – to the man he had always suspected was not Hojo's child but _his – _and debated the merits of telling him_. _Would it matter to Sephiroth that Hojo might not be his biological father? Would it bother him that a Turk - that a _monster - _was? Would he blame Vincent for his failure to protect both he and Lucrecia from the sadistic madman who had shaped so much of his horrific life?

It was the frown that did it, Kuja thought drowsily. Not the actual expression itself, but the way those gorgeously slanted eyes narrowed amidst a backdrop of long, thick lashes and alabaster skin. Much like when he'd first "met" Vincent Valentine, Kuja found himself marveling at just how similar this man seemed to Sephiroth, and quite suddenly, he sure that he knew _why. _It was more than his scent, more than that strange mix of mako and something _other _that was so reminiscent of Sephiroth's own. It lied more in the shape of his face, in his tall, slender, yet muscular physique. He even moved with an animalistic grace that echoed Sephiroth's own. If his suspicions were right – and he was _never _wrong – they would certainly explain the way that Sephiroth had conjured a second greatcoat out thin air. Perhaps, shape-shifting simply ran in the _family_.

He opened his mouth to speak, to voice his suspicions to the man he had willingly left purgatory for, and then thought better of it. While Vincent was certainly beautiful enough, and the similarities between he and Kuja's were angel unmistakable, there was the little problem of Vincent's _age. _The other man simply wasn't old enough to be Sephiroth's father, nor to have known his "human" mother. And yet his own _father, _for lack of a better term, had been more than seven-thousand-years-old when Kuja had killed him. Who was to say that it wasn't _possible?_

"Angel?" Kuja turned in Sephiroth's lap, reaching up with one delicate hand to touch the gentle curve of his angel's chin, loving the way that those stunning green eyes immediately focused on _him_. "I know there's a lot that I don't understand about what's going on here, but why do you believe that Vincent knew your mother when he's too _young_ to have known her?"

His angel shot their strange visitor a quick, eloquent look before turning back to _him. _"I believe Vincent because," he took Kuja's hand in his own and pressed a gentle kiss to the tips of his fingers, "he died trying to protect her from my father."

Kuja blinked, his surprise obvious, and one corner of Sephiroth's mouth twisted into a humorless smile. "Professor Hojo possessed no morals to speak of, Kuja. He thought nothing of taking human lives if it furthered his all-consuming passion for _science."_

The last word was all but spat down at him, and Kuja felt another, stronger pang of sympathy, an emotion he was quickly becoming familiar with – at least, when it came to his angel. "Garland was the same way," he offered quietly, brushing a long-nailed fingertip over those sensual, unhappy lips. "Just remember—"

"That it was their failing, not ours," Sephiroth finished for him. A slight, genuine smile curved his lips, and Kuja returned it as he nodded with approval. "That's exactly right, angel. Now, tell me how _your _crazy old man managed to bring Vincent back from the dead when even _Garland_ had trouble mastering resurrection?"

Sephiroth opened his mouth to respond and paused as he realized that he didn't know. He only knew of Lucrecia Crescent and Vincent Valentine because _Mother _had known of them. Had her puppet not immersed himself in the Lifestream for five long years, he would not even know that much. "I don't know," he answered at length, lifting questioning eyes to Vincent's own. "I understand that my. . .mother somehow _fused _you with Chaos, but I also know that there are _others_. Those, I know nothing of. Would it be safe to assume that they have helped you remain. . .as you are?"

That gilded head tipped curiously to one side as the former General voiced the question, sending a thick veil of glossy silver hair tumbling over his shoulders, and something in Vincent's chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe. Even with his undeniably masculine features and the beyond-pale shade of his hair, the resemblance to beautiful Lucrecia was _painfully_ obvious.

"I remember very little after Lucrecia left the lab," Vincent murmured in a quiet voice. "I only know that she was responsible for Chaos because she used to talk to me while she was trying to. . .heal me. To this day, I don't know where she found him, or how she was able to harness him for our. . .fusion."

Luminous crimson eyes darkened as Vincent looked away, the faintest of frowns pulling at the unlined skin of his brow as he fought to pull the tattered pieces of his past together. "Hojo liked to talk as well, but his words rarely made any sort of sense to me. I understood enough to know that he didn't believe Lucrecia's 'experiment' had been successful. He called her theories on Chaos rubbish, and believed that _he _could succeed where she had failed."

The older man blinked and pulled himself back to reality with visible effort. He lowered his chin until the cowl of his cloak concealed his expression and shrugged once. "As to _how _he created the others, I don't know. I only know that he did. They are – and always will be – a part of me."

Sephiroth merely nodded in silence, his expression more solemn than Kuja had ever seen it, and Kuja's curiosity threatened to eat him alive. He felt for Vincent – Gaia knew that being poked and prodded by Garland wasn't among _his _favorite memories – but Vincent was being much too mysterious for _his _peace of mind. And, he hadn't really answered Sephiroth's question.

"Are these 'others' are what keep you looking so young?" he asked, not liking the path his thoughts were beginning to take, but _needing _to know. "What are they? Multiple personalities? Separate beings that share your body? Do they have anything to do with your shape-shifting abilities? And if so, _how_ do they keep you from _aging?"_

Two sets of lovely, brilliant, exotically-tilted eyes swung to him, and that sense of familiarity returned and redoubled. There was no way that these two men were _not _related. He's stake every last bit of gil in his purse on _that._ As to the suspicions that were forming in his mind. . .He hoped to hell he was wrong about _those, _or he and his angel were going to have yet another fight tonight!

"…" Vincent shifted uncomfortably and buried his face even deeper in his collar, supremely uncomfortable with this line of questioning. He resented the barrage of questions shot at him so carelessly by this man he did not know. What he had been through was _none _of Kuja Tribal's business.

He sat up straighter, pulling both knees up before him and wrapping his arms around them, intent on telling the powerful young mage exactly that when a glimmer of gold caught his eye. Firelight glinted off the gauntlet that encased his damaged left hand, and he heaved a heavy sigh. It was an unnecessary reminder of what had been done to him by his lover's crazed husband, but it was enough to make him realize that _Sephiroth _deserved to know. Whether it would make a difference to Lucrecia's son – to _his _son – was another matter altogether.

"I share my body with four other beings," he said in a painfully flat voice. "I know that Chaos is an ancient demon, but only because he _told _me so. The others are. . .different, somehow. They can't communicate with words. Only their emotions reach me, and that's never been enough to tell _where _they came from. I only know that Hojo is responsible for them, that they manifest themselves physically when I am injured or near death, and that they – somehow – are responsible for my current state of being."

He couldn't quite conceal the bite of displeasure tingeing his deep voice as he lowered his gaze to Kuja's and asked, "Is that answer enough for you?"

"That's more than enough," Kuja replied faintly, his thoughts swirling unpleasantly through his mind as he added, "Thank you," in a distracted voice.

He gazed up at Sephiroth, who was watching their "guest" with sympathetic green eyes, and suddenly felt like screaming. Vincent had asked Sephiroth if Kuja was "one of his", but Kuja hadn't comprehended his meaning. When he'd used the word remnant, Kuja hadn't understood the context, and had dismissed it as unimportant. As for asking if he was Sephiroth's clone. . .Except for the similar shades of their hair, he and his angel looked _nothing _alike. Surely, that alone was enough to tell _anyone _that he was his own being?

"What was she like?" Sephiroth voice broke the silence which followed, his deep voice filled with a desperation that made Kuja's heart ache for him, despite his rapidly growing anger. "I know that she was a _scientist," _he bit the hated word off, "but she must have had some redeeming qualities, for you to have cared for her as much as you did."

Vincent offered a faint smile at that. "She was beautiful, brilliant, and," ruby eyes gleamed briefly in fond remembrance, "every bit the absent-minded professor. If I didn't remind her to eat, she could go an entire day without doing so. She was fascinated with The Ancient – with Jenova – but not to the same extent that Gast and Hojo were. She truly believed in what they were doing. She wanted to resurrect the Cetra race, so that humanity could _learn _from The Ancients and make the world a better place. She was an idealist," he added with just the faintest touch of whimsy.

"An idealist," Sephiroth repeated, his obvious skepticism belied by the hopeful light in his pale green eyes. "Yet, she was willing to sacrifice her only child in a highly unethical scientific experiment?"

Vincent's fine, faintly Wutaian features reflected sorrow at his words. "I've never been able reconcile that side of her with the loving, gentle woman that I knew," he answered honestly. "The decision to inject herself and _you _with Jenova's cells was one that still baffles me to this day. I know that she wanted you, that she had every intention of raising you herself, but beyond that. . ."

One crimson-clad shoulder rose and fell in a helpless half-shrug, and Kuja realized that he knew even less about his own circumstances than _Zidane _had, which he wouldn't have believed possible. His anger melted away in an instant, filled with an empathy he hadn't believed himself capable of. Vincent's life sounded as though it had been little better than his son's – or his own, for that matter – and it made the older man's suspicions about _him _a little more understandable.

"_I __**died **__eight years ago in Nibelheim."_

Sephiroth's words, uttered with such ferocity only a short time ago, echoed through Kuja's mind. It was astonishing just how much he – a being from a completely different world – had in common with these two remarkable men. Whether one chose to call it fate, destiny, or some kind of inter-dimensional fluke, Kuja had been brought here for a reason – one _besides _winning and bedding the most spectacular man he'd ever known. He just had to figure out what that reason was.

Well, he was nothing of not intelligent, Kuja thought with just a touch of arrogance. If anyone could figure this out, it was him. And figure it out he would, just as soon as he got a little more information about this world and the people who populated it.

But not right now. He had other, more important things to worry about at the moment, like giving his angel a father who _wasn't_ a total nightmare. "Vincent?" He aimed a bright, expectant look in their guest's direction, making no attempt to hide his intentions. The older man's gaze swung to his own, a guarded expression in their glowing depths, and Kuja sent him a sympathetic smile. "I believe that you have something to tell Sephiroth."

He paused, and those gorgeous, shimmering crimson eyes sharpened shrewdly on his own. "Or am I wrong about you – Vincent Valentine?"

Sephiroth frowned as his own gaze found the older man, the former Turk who had suffered in ways that even he could not comprehend. Vincent's cold, emotionless expression softened fractionally, and he felt something that suspiciously resembled hope creep into his suddenly pounding heart. "Vincent?" he questioned in a quiet, nearly inaudible voice.

Vincent had to fight to hold that bottomless green gaze with his own. Intelligence gleamed in the depths of those eyes – of _Lucrecia's eyes – _and the resemblance to between mother and son increased tenfold. He could see himself there as well, in the emotional intensity with which the younger man watched him, and Vincent suddenly wondered how Sephiroth would have looked had he not been imbued with The Calamity's essence.

An image of Sephiroth with a long, flowing veil of sable hair flashed through his mind, and Vincent's chest tightened unnervingly. He found that he couldn't be angry with Kuja for calling him out, even though he had all but decided to hold his silence. This was a secret that should have been revealed _long _ago, and a part him _wanted _Sephiroth to know. He only marveled that his son's prissy, seemingly self-centered companion had discerned a truth that not even the closest of his friends had.

"Kuja is right," he said at last, praying that his son wouldn't hate him when all was said and done. Surprise flickered across Sephiroth's patrician features, and then it was gone, replaced an intense expression that Vincent couldn't begin to interpret. "My relationship with your mother was. . .intense, for lack of a better word. We met when we could, where we could, but there were parts to her that I was not privy to."

He paused as memories of smiling green eyes and silken honeyed hair flashed through his mind, and his own lips curved sadly in response. Sephiroth nodded in silent understanding, his head tilting slightly to the right to indicate his interest, and Vincent drew a fortifying breath. "You have to understand that she was unhappy with Hojo," he explained in a murmur. "The were both scientists, and as much as she loved her work, she didn't understand her husband's fixation with it. He was obsessed with science, with the idea of creating a being with all the powers of The Ancients, to the exclusion of everything else – even her."

Those bow lips, echoes of his mother's, turned down at the corners, and Vincent resisted an impulse to cross the camp and reach out to his son. Sephiroth was not the kind of man who would appreciate an emotional gesture from a complete stranger – even if that stranger happened to be his father. "They drifted apart," he forced himself to continue. "By the time I was sent to Nibelheim to guard her, their marriage was all but over."

He uttered a soul-deep sigh and shook his dark head. "It was not my intention to become involved with a married woman. It not only went against Shinra regulations, but against everything I believed in. It was wrong – I knew that it was – and yet I. . .I _loved_ her."

Sephiroth looked away, his heart racing in his chest, as he realized just what this man _might _be telling him. "Is that why Hojo killed you?" he asked at length, his voice rough with strain. He thought of the cold, callous way that Hojo had informed him of his parentage, and had to clench his fists to keep his emotions restrained. "Did he discover the affair and—"

"No." Vincent drew a deep, shuddering breath and released it slowly. "No, it wasn't the affair. He didn't care what Lucrecia did outside of the lab, so long as it didn't interfere with her. . .work."

Kuja waited in an agony of suspense for the older man to continue, frustration filling him when Vincent failed to do so. He was on the verge of speaking, of prompting the other man to continue, when Vincent uttered a great sigh. He raised those startling crimson eyes to Sephiroth's, and Kuja was shocked by the myriad of emotion he saw in their mako-charged depths.

"I want you to know that if I known – if I had even _suspected – _the truth, I would have taken your mother away from that accursed man. By force, if I'd had to." Vincent's deep, dark voice resonated with emotion, and Kuja didn't doubt his sincerity. The question was: would _Sephiroth_ believe him?

Sephiroth merely gazed at him in silence, unwilling to ask the question that hovered on his lips, all but begging to be spoken. If what he now suspected was true, he wanted to hear it from Vincent himself, _without _any prompting. He would accept _nothing _less.

"Lucrecia was the one who ended the relationship," Vincent explained, leaning forward in his urgency, wanting – no, _needing – _his son to understand. "It wasn't what I wanted, but her happiness meant more to me _anything. _When she went back to Hojo, I thought I had no choice but to accept it. And then she announced that she was pregnant, and that she and Hojo intended to include the child in the experiment. . ."

"I know that I should have said something, that I should have tried to stop her, but I didn't feel as though I had the _right."_ Vincent shook his head, sending a silken cascade of thick black satin tumbling over his shoulders, even as one black-gloved hand balled into a fist. "She and her _husband _were going to have a child, and I had no say in the matter. I hated it, but I thought that I had to respect her right to _make _that decision."

Kuja sensed more than felt the hands that fisted against his back and quickly glanced up at his angel. Sephiroth was watching Vincent with intently, his silver-green eyes flashing madly with emotion, his beautiful dace drawn taut with it, and Kuja fought the urge to pick up the nearest rock and send it hurtling Vincent's way. Gaia, couldn't Vincent just forgo the long, drawn-out explanation and _tell _Sephiroth the damned truth already? Couldn't he _tell _how badly his son needed to hear it?

Sephiroth's lips tightened until they little more than colorless slashes in his equally colorless face. He understood exactly how Vincent had felt – he had once felt the same way about Genesis and Angeal – but it was agony to sit here and listen to the older man say everything but what he _wanted _to hear.

"I should have listened to my instincts that day." Vincent's voice dropped to a hushed, nearly inaudible murmur, and Kuja wondered if he and Sephiroth had been forgotten. "I should have followed her out of that room and begged her to listen to me. Instead, I let her walk away, and ruined the lives of the woman that I loved," he raised his head slowly, almost reluctantly, and met Sephiroth's glowing green gaze once more, "and our son."

Sephiroth's breath left him in an audible rush. "Then, _you _are my father."

It was phrased as statement, not a question, but Vincent answered anyway. "Yes," he told him in a quiet voice, "I believe that I am."

"That is," Sephiroth's entire body relaxed visibly, "_very _good to know. I thank you for your candor, as well as your honesty, Vincent."

Vincent merely stared at him with thinly veiled uncertainty, and Kuja rolled his eyes at his angel's less than enthusiastic response. "I think that means that he's happy to have you as a father, Vincent."

He shifted and pulled himself into a sitting position, grinning as his angel sent him a most magnificent frown. "Is that not what I just said?" he asked with the beginnings of annoyance, and Kuja reached up and patted his cheek condescendingly.

"Just because _I _can interpret you, doesn't mean that everyone can, angel," he informed the other man loftily. "You basically told Vincent that you were glad to discover that Hojo _wasn't _your father. You didn't tell him that you were happy that _he _was. You see the distinction, I presume?"

"I – " Sephiroth looked at the father who was willing to claim a monster such as himself as his son, "Yes, I see the distinction, Kuja. Thank you, for making it clear."

Kuja smiled, pleased with himself, and leaned into the other man. Strong arms wrapped around him in return, and he happily tucked his head under his angel's chin. "You're more than welcome, angel."

Sephiroth gazed at Vincent over the top of his head, his lips inching upwards in the barest hint of a smile. "Forgive me for not responding in a more appropriate manner," he told the older man – _his father _– in a solemn voice. "I _am _pleased to know that you are my biological father, Vincent. Never think otherwise."

Vincent inclined his head and took refuge behind the cowl of his cloak. "Thank you, Sephiroth. It's more than I deserve but," the corners of his eyes folded slightly as he smiled, "exactly what I needed to hear."

Sephiroth merely nodded and lowered his chin until it rested on the crown of Kuja's head. "I would like to hear more about you and my mother," he murmured awkward sincerity, "but not tonight. Kuja nearly succumbed to hypothermia today, and he needs to rest if he's going to have the strength to make it to Icicle tomorrow. If you're willing to share our fire tonight, you are welcome to accompany us."

"I'd like that," Vincent returned simply. He glanced at Kuja, who was yawning as he burrowed even more deeply against Sephiroth, and rose to his feet. "I'll stand watch tonight. I don't require much in the way of sleep. You concentrate on taking care of. . .Kuja."

Sephiroth caught the minute hesitation and instinctively – protectively – tightened his hold on the younger man. He watched the older man disappear into the icy night, as though in defiance of the freezing weather, and sighed heavily. It didn't matter whether Kuja was a clone, a remnant, or a Genome from another world, Sephiroth was determined to protect him. He didn't doubt that the other man was strong – after all, he could cast magic without materia – but he didn't seem to understand how their world worked. Otherwise, he would never have ventured into the north without proper equipment.

And while he _was _pleased to learn that Vincent Valentine was his biological father, he would allow _no one _to harm Kuja Tribal.


End file.
